


Lift Closed

by profl



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Skiing!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-11-22 09:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profl/pseuds/profl
Summary: When Sam takes a job as a ski lift operator, the most excitement he's expecting is a few runs on the mountain slopes. When a chance occurrence leads to him meeting the rich son of one of the lodge owners, Sam's job suddenly becomes a lot more interesting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to fill this prompt for a long time, as I'm an avid skier myself, but now that it's coming into winter I felt it was even more appropriate to write. I took a few artistic liberties and adjusted some of the facts from the prompt, but I hope I do the idea justice!
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> AU Prompt: In a life where the Drake bros never became fortune hunters, Sam takes work at a ski resort looking after the luxury chalets. He doesn't fit in with the rest of the workers and he's considering quitting until his rich client's attractive son Rafe arrives.

The first thing to go numb was always his fingers. No matter how many layers of gloves he wore, Sam Drake could always be certain that within twenty minutes, they might as well have fallen off. The snow was kind to no man, and he was certainly learning his lesson now. If he had been snowboarding himself, he wouldn’t have minded the way the southern wind tore across the snow, taking his fingers with it. It was all part of the thrill when hurtling down a mountain. Somehow, however, watching riders dismount a t-bar on their way up to black diamond runs did not give quite the same rush.

Gingerly, Sam pulled his gloves off with his teeth and blew hot air into his hands. His brother Nathan had promised him that spending a season working the ski-lifts would be enjoyable. While he was gallivanting somewhere warmer than 30 degrees Fahrenheit with Victor Sullivan, Sam would spend the colder months earning his own wages, and the three would meet up again come March. Now, he was beginning to regret his decision to not join their exploration.

Steadying an uneasy snowboarder with one hand as they dismounted beside him, Sam looked out across the Colorado mountains. Small shapes in different shades of fluro swayed back and forth as they made their way down the slopes and Sam, stepping from side to side to keep warm, wished he were one of them. In fact, he was wishing so hard that he didn’t notice he was in a collision path until his legs were swept up from underneath him.

With a mighty *oof* Sam was unceremoniously dumped onto the snow. For a moment, he lay there motionlessly, feeling the snow soak into his clothes where his waterproof gear had ridden up his body. Wiggling each limb in turn, Sam took stock of his bearings and began to feel air fill his lungs again. Luckily, he felt no more discomfort than a face full of snow, but movement underneath him alerted him to the fact that there had been two tangoing in this particular crash. Immediately rolling to the side, Sam pushed himself to his feet and turned to look at who had entangled themselves with him. From the noises coming from the ground, Sam had been the lucky one.

Lying amongst a pile of skis and poles, a young man was looking decidedly irritated by his predicament. Dressed head to toe in black snow gear, only a pale face with snow-burnt cheeks poked out between a scarf and a beanie half-ripped off his head. Sam thought the face would have looked quite attractive, if it hadn’t been pulled into a deep frown. Lifting the man’s equipment out of the way, Sam thrust his hand out to help the skier stand.

“You a’ight?” He asked, as the other man attempted to lever himself off the ground with Sam’s arm. One boot was still attached to its ski, and as Sam pulled it slid further along in the snow, prompting a cry from the man the leg was attached to. In shock, Sam dropped him on the ground in a more crumpled position than before.

“No, I’m not!” The man had a lower voice than Sam had expected - his face could have easily been mistaken for that of a teenager, but now Sam figured they were closer in age than that. “I can’t… Fuck, my knee.”

Kneeling down beside the man, Sam manually unlocked the boot still attached to the ski and stopped it before it continued its descent down the hill. It was hard to gauge any injury under the baggy ski pants, so Sam began to gently feel along the man’s leg with his hands, feeling along the curve of his knee. He couldn’t feel a break, but the man had his eyes squeezed shut and Sam sensed that he was in more pain than he was letting on. Reaching for the radio at his belt, he gave their location and called for a pickup. As Sam let go of his leg, the man moved his own hands to tightly grip where he’d been.

“What’s your name?” Sam’s question broke the silence between them.

“Rafe” was the curt answer he received. Sam played with the name on his tongue.

“Well, Rafe, my name is Sam and we’re going to get you down the mountain as fast as we can.” The man - Rafe - looked up at him blankly.

“I should hope so, you were the one in my way.”

Sam spluttered, wondering if he had misheard in the wind or whether his latest rescue needed a refresher on his snow etiquette.

“Excuse me?”

Rafe looked irritated at having to repeat himself. “I was skiing, you were in my way, and we collided.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh, receiving an angry glare in return. Collisions with small children still learning the ropes could be excused, but Rafe had far too much stubble for that.

“You’re not a very good skier if you can’t change direction,” he said with a smirk, moving to collect Rafe’s equipment where it had scattered. Luckily, the arrival of a member of the ski patrol on a Ski-Doo interrupted Rafe’s counter - the look on his face told Sam that it wouldn’t have been kind.

Not one for first aid, Sam let the patrol member secure Rafe to the rescue toboggan, binding him under a mass of reflective blankets. If he got bumped a couple of times on their way down the mountain, Sam couldn’t say he minded.

By the time they arrived at the first aid center, Rafe was looking a little more subdued. Sam had helped carry the sled inside, and then promptly been left by himself to watch over the medical examination. Sitting on the examination table with one leg propped up, Rafe had his eyes on the door. He’d had to relinquish his outer layer of clothing once he’d been unstrapped from the toboggan, and even from across the room Sam could see him shivering. Dressed only now in slim-fitting thermals, Rafe looked a lot smaller than he had before, built lean rather than large. His beanie was scrunched in one hand, revealing dark, windswept hair.

The doctor diagnosed a dislocated kneecap, and the whole procedure was relatively quick and painless - for Sam, at least. Rafe asked to see the doctor’s PhD and asked whether he could get airlifted to the nearest hospital for the procedure. Sam was thankful when the doctor mildly sedated him, setting and splinting the knee while Rafe traced shapes into the air. Once he’d been wrapped up in his snow-gear again, his eyelids were heavy and he was unsteady on his feet.

“Help him get back home, would you?” The doctor directed the question at Sam, who nodded. By the time he’d taken Rafe back to wherever he was staying, he could probably clock out for the day and go straight home to a roaring fire. He’d had enough of snow for one day.

Hoisting Rafe up against him with one hand pressed into his armpit, skis and poles tied to his back, Sam walked them outside onto the snow. Rafe gave him the name of one of the lodges further up the mountain, and Sam inwardly cursed: not far enough away to acquire a snowmobile, but far enough that he’d be struggling by the time he’d gotten them both up there on foot. At least Rafe had decided that he had nothing more to say - Sam appreciated the silence.

By the time they arrived at Rafe’s lodge, the sun was low in the sky and snow was beginning to fall. Sam was glad they had not made the trip in the dark, as even in the light the trip had been precarious - every slippery patch of ice was ready and waiting to pull Rafe’s knee out again.

Sam couldn’t hide his awe as the lodge came into view, nestled in the mountains with not another building in sight. It was miles above the caliber of the lodges that were closer to the ski lifts, and Sam could only imagine how much it cost to stay here. The gear of Rafe’s strapped to his back had looked like top of the line equipment, and this explained where the self-righteous attitude came from. Once Rafe had opened the front door, Sam left him to shuffle inside while he placed his skis on the drying rack. There was room for half the mountain’s gear, but there were no other skis or snowboards around - Sam figured that they were all still catching the last hour of sunlight, waiting until the last chairlift slowed to a stop before they returned home. The thought was bewildering to Sam, who thought he might have spent more time in the lodge than out on the snow if this was where he had been staying.

Inside was not as warm as he had been expecting, and as Rafe leaned against the wall, Sam looked out across the room they’d arrived in. A vast wood-accented living area spread out ahead of them, with couches arranged around a central fireplace. Large windows looked out across snow-topped trees and the setting sun. Having been untouched all day, the fire had been reduced to smoldering ash, and after moving Rafe to one of the couches, Sam went searching for kindling. To his credit, Rafe hadn’t complained the entire trip up the mountain, and Sam felt that this was the least he could do for the shivering man now curled up on the couch. He also doubted that Rafe even knew how to start a fire at all.

The wood had been kept dry in a basket beside the fireplace, and a lighter in his pocket made setting the wood alight very straight-forward. Sam could feel Rafe’s eyes on his back and the sensation made him shiver. The man hadn’t said anything since a passing comment to give directions half-way up the mountain, and now the silence felt flat and uncomfortable. He certainly hadn’t run out of things to say earlier, Sam thought.

With the fire roaring again, Sam stood up and brushed the wood chippings off his pants. Expecting at least a thank you or maybe an offer of a hot drink, Sam was surprised when Rafe merely stood up and announced that he was taking a bath. Not waiting for a response - Sam didn’t have one to give either - he turned on his good leg and disappeared further into the lodge.

Sam considered waiting around, warming his body by the fire - the fire that he’d started - and bartering for a hot meal once Rafe had returned, but after a few minutes he decided that it was unlikely the man was coming back anytime soon, plus his reception had not been particularly welcoming since they’d arrived. Without looking around any further, Sam pulled on his snow jacket and headed out again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your kudos and kind comments - I'm glad that you are all enjoying this fic so far! This chapter is a little more devoid of action, but you'll learn some more about Sam, and I promise that your waiting will be rewarded ;)

The trip from down to his lodge seemed to take a lot longer when Sam was chasing the sunset. The cold was unpleasant enough during the day, but at night it could quickly turn deadly, and he wanted to make it back before it got dark. Although he hadn’t been erupting with gratitude, Sam was still glad that he’d helped Rafe up the mountain, otherwise he’d probably still be stumbling up now. 

Fortunately for Sam, the last streaks of light across the sky only began to fade once he’d reached the door of his own accommodation. A lot lower in altitude than Rafe’s, Sam’s building had been set up in the cheaper ‘village,’ where a few creaky buildings were clustered together. Most looked like they hadn’t been renovated for fifty years, with gaps in the old wood that let the icy wind whistle freely through. Sam had never complained: heavy woolen socks protected his ankles, and he’d certainly slept in worse places.

From outside his lodge, Sam could hear the sounds of loud music and cheering, and he expected a raging party inside that had likely been going on since three in the afternoon. Someone was keeled over being sick in the snow beside the stairs, and Sam gingerly stepped around him, trying not to get vomit on his shoes.

Sure enough, as soon as he opened the heavy door into the drying room, he was assaulted with the strong smell of alcohol and fried food. The stench made him feel a little bit like joining his friend outside. Shedding his wet outerwear, he hung up his gear on the hooks, noticing how ski poles rattled against each other with the pumping bass from the other room. Devoid of the heavy layers, Sam pushed his way into the main lounge where it was thankfully a lot warmer, but also significantly rowdier.

The area was stuffy - couches had been pushed against the far wall in an attempt to make a viable dance floor, but it was obvious that the room had already reached its capacity. The air was thick with a musty smell that came from woolen clothes still damp with snow. As close as they could to the small fireplace, a crowd of people danced too close to the flames, their bodies swaying drunkenly to the beat. From what Sam could see, their hands were flowing as easily as the drinks. Avoiding the crowd entirely - he’d made the mistake of walking through it before - Sam made his way to the other side of the room, knocking over half-empty cans of beer with his shoes.

Although likely little more than crumpled newspaper, insulation between the walls meant that the loud music was only a dull thump of bass in his chest again by the time Sam arrived at the bedrooms. Not ready to sleep and craving a cigarette between his fingers, Sam continued through to the balcony where he could sit undisturbed until his butt went numb. Outside in the cold, his fingers caught on the lighter a couple of times, but he managed to get a flame going and the taste of nicotine hit the back of his throat like a freight train. It took a couple of deep inhales to wash away the day, but soon he was feeling calm and sated. 

With his free hand, Sam patted the front pockets of his jacket to find his phone, pulling it out to check for any updates from his younger brother. Nathan had called him a few nights before, but since then had gone into radio silence. He’d warned that he and Sully would likely be difficult to contact for a few days, but Sam still felt his stomach constrict when he saw that he had no new messages. Most of the time, Nathan was the only person Sam could rely on, and he always found their separation difficult. Knowing that his brother wouldn’t be in a position to answer a call, Sam flicked off a quick text wishing his brother continued good luck and headed back inside.

Taking advantage of the dancing mass of inebriation in the other room, Sam took the hottest and longest shower he could manage, staying under the drizzle of water until his fingertips were wrinkled. Changing into something more comfortable to sleep, he made his way down the hall to his bunk-room. Inside, the light was off, but he didn’t risk turning it on. There were twelve beds in the room, set up as six bunks, and Sam had already been told off once for waking up its sleeping inhabitants. How they could fall asleep sleep so easily with nightly raves on the other side of the wall, Sam had no idea.

Feeling his way through the room, Sam eventually managed to find his bunk and slip into the bottom bed, pulling the blankets up around his neck until he was safety consumed in his body heat. His face would be freezing the next morning - the room heaters only ran a couple of hours into the night - but at least he could take solace in his body remaining warm. Taking a deep breath, Sam relaxed into the thin mattress, feeling his tired muscles slowly unwind. Unfortunately, his calm was soon disturbed by the squeak of springs coming from the bed above him - it sounded all too like a couple was getting it on. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Sam mumbled under his breath, pressing his pillow over his face. The pillow served to block out the noise reasonably enough, but he still felt the bunk rocking unsteadily around him. This was not the first time it had happened - it seemed like the man above him had the need to procreate with the frequency of a rabbit. Sam had mentioned it a few days before, offering the suggestion that maybe he could consider somewhere that didn’t disturb a room of employees trying to get a few hours of sleep. The man had laughed, replying that Sam needed find his own body to wile away the night.

Sam hadn’t been ignorant of the people that threw themselves at him if he strayed too long in the lounge - fellow workers who avoided him by day but were ready to be pounded into the mattress by anyone who looked at them sideways by night. The whole thing made Sam a little uncomfortable: it was too reminiscent of his old habits several years ago: twenty-two and bedding a new woman (or man) every night. He’d changed his ways to be a better role model for Nathan, and hadn’t looked back since.

Although he’d never returned to his old ways, he couldn’t deny the tightness in his pants reminding him that he hadn’t had someone in his bed for a long time. He found his mind drawn back to Rafe without giving it permission, and the thought of peace and quiet in his luxury chalet was almost as exciting as the thought of the man taking his bath. He bet the bathroom was full of candles - hell, Rafe was probably drinking champagne and playing classical music too, wiping himself over with a soapy sponge. It made Sam's blood hot, and running his hand over the front of his pants revealed that it wasn’t just his mind thinking of Rafe.

“No… fuck,” Sam muttered, flipping onto his stomach in the hope of extinguishing his bodily desires. He and Rafe had barely crossed paths for more than an hour - he could have his candle-lit bath alone. Leaving his body to deal with its urges on its own, Sam re-positioned the pillow over his head again and waited for sleep to take him.

Loud drunken snoring, not his alarm, woke Sam the next morning. His watch only said 6:00am, but getting a head-start sounded like a good idea and he could take his time making breakfast before anyone else was sober enough to disturb him.

The last party-goers had been considerate enough to do most of the tidying at the end of night - a vital constitution that kept the lodge running smoothly - and Sam only had to give the table a quick wipe down before he considered it clean enough to eat from. Fixing himself a couple of eggs on toast and a few rashers of bacon, Sam ate slowly, reading the day’s weather report and the allocated duties. 

He wasn’t suspicious when he saw that his name had been taken off the ski lift supervision, but it wasn’t until he realized that his name wasn’t on the page at all that he began to worry. He’d been moved around a couple of times, but never anything more drastic than a different supervision area. Flipping the page over, Sam noticed a second side for the first time - he’d never needed to look on the second page for his name before. This side listed the more domestic jobs, for the few people on the mountain who preferred to spend their days off the snow tending to the accommodations instead. 

Sam ran his finger along the page, finally finding his name near the bottom. His was the only name under the heading “Adler Lodge,” but there was no job description alongside his name, and he had to check the map to even find out where the lodge was.

His face contorted into a frown when he looked at the map. He was not new to Adler lodge, in fact, he had visited just last night. Whether this was a horrible coincidence or something more sinister, Sam couldn’t fathom cleaning toilets while its primary resident, Rafe, watched on. 

Standing up and crumpling the paper in his fist, Sam considered his next move. Obviously, the whole thing was a huge mistake and an unknowing admin had accidentally gotten him mixed up with somebody else. Someone who enjoyed cleaning instead of being out in the snow was bound to be just as upset as he was about the change, so it was up to him to sort it before they woke up and found out for themselves. Pulling on his coat, Sam headed in the direction of the administration office.

In his hurry he’d forgotten his gloves and woolly hat, and the wind punished him for it fiercely. Luckily, the admin building was only a few hundred meters away, and he wasn’t completely solid by the time he arrived. A small bell announced his arrival, and a woman looked up from the front desk.

“How can I help you?” She asked, her voice polite but with the strain of someone woken too early in the morning. Sam kicked the snow off his boots by the door and walked over to place the sheet of paper down in front of her.

“I’ve been reallocated this morning, but I’m usually out supervising the lifts. There must be a misunderstanding.” Peering at his name on the list, the woman turned to her computer screen and slowly tapped at the keyboard. After a minute, she turned back to look at Sam.

“I’m sorry, sir, there hasn’t been a misunderstanding. This request came from your supervisor himself.” Sam’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t been slacking off at work, and he couldn’t offer another explanation as to why he’d been moved. The fact that it was Rafe’s lodge was a question for another day - the woman in front of him clearly didn’t know any more than she was letting on. 

With an insincere thank you, Sam turned to leave. 

“You’d better get up there quickly - your shift starts at 8am.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins ;)

Even with a short stop back to his room for more layers of clothing, Sam made great time up to the Adler lodge. When he rounded the last corner and the lodge loomed up ahead, Sam considered waiting out of sight for a while, arriving late to his shift and hopefully being demoted from his position before the subsequent day. But somehow, a part of him was actually looking forward to seeing Rafe again, no matter what the circumstances of the meeting were, and that was the side that won out as he opened the door at precisely 8am. 

A wave of warm air washed over Sam as he opened the door, and the horror of cleaning toilets faded with the promise of a day spent not worrying about his extremities freezing off. Brushing snow off his boots and pants in the doorway, he looked across the living area. It was unchanged from the night before, and Sam was relieved to find it just as quiet and peaceful as it had been then. 

Stepping further inside, it didn’t take long to find the lodge’s primary resident. Rafe was reclining on one of the couches with a steaming mug of something strong and dark in one hand, dressed in black satin pajamas. Slippered feet sat propped up on a rustic-looking coffee table, and dark hair that had been hidden underneath a beanie the night before was now sleep-tousled and rough. Sam had a good few moments to look over the man, as Rafe was looking towards the windows and seemed to not have noticed his entrance at all. 

He found himself experiencing a sensation that he had thought was left behind in his past: a burning desire that began deep in his stomach and seemed to spread out across his body. It was the feeling of drunken nights: six drinks down and ready to carry the next person who gave him the time of day straight to bed. Or, if no bed was available, he’d have made do with couches, toilet cubicles, or even empty spaces on the wall not already taken up by people grinding against each other. 

The thought made Sam recoil a little. He hadn’t been the first to admit he’d had a problem all those years ago, but once Nathan had gotten old enough to start expressing an interest in following in his big brother’s footsteps, he’d known that his behavior had needed to change. 

He shook his head, trying to shoo his thoughts away. He hadn’t thought of those memories for years: his interest in quick flings had been left behind, and now he was a better man. If he could get the thoughts of Rafe out of his mind, that is. Lowering his gaze to the reclining man on the couch again, Sam cleared his throat.

“Rafe, or should I call you, Mister Adler today? I’m here to clean, or change some light-bulbs, or whatever else that needs doing.” Sam waited for a reply that didn’t come - Rafe barely turned to look at him - and eventually shrugged off his coat and flopped it over the arm of the couch. Rafe gave the offending jacket a sidelong glance.

“We have hooks by the door for a reason,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink, “Master Adler, please - Mister Adler is my father.” Rafe’s voice was cold, but Sam didn’t try to be quiet as he hung his coat up on the correct hook. He wasn’t going to let Rafe ruin his day with a sour mood, even if he was a little disappointed that the man wasn’t more cheered by his presence.

“Well Master Adler,” Sam drew out the title, moving to the couch and settling himself a cushion away from the man, “What got up your ass this morning?” He felt the thrill of victory as Rafe’s cheeks went red, and the man opened his mouth as if to say something, before closing it again. Although he’d provoked the man, Sam was glad that Rafe hadn’t retaliated with a full-blown argument. His cold demeanor made Sam want to pester him until he cracked, but he was wary of pushing too far. He’d have nowhere else to go, if his behavior got him fired.

The silence between them quickly became oppressive, and Sam tapped his fingers on the furniture to pass the time. 

“That’s annoying.” Rafe broke the silence, taking another sip of his drink without taking his eyes off the windows. Sam clasped his hands together, realizing now how much they itched for a cigarette. Somehow, he thought smoking here would be an offense to the furniture and the man who lounged on it. 

“Do you want me to bring you a book or something?” Sam offered lamely, “Or make you something to eat?” Rafe glanced over, giving Sam his full attention. His gaze felt like it was burning Sam’s skin. 

“A book?” Rafe’s reply was almost incredulous - disbelief that Sam had even suggested the thought. Sam shrugged his shoulders, offering an opportunity for Rafe to suggest an alternative. To his credit, Rafe’s voice had thawed a little by the time he spoke again.

“I need you to help me get upstairs.” 

Sam nodded, it wasn’t a completely irrational request. The splint was still locked on Rafe’s knee, and even lifting it onto the ground in preparation to stand up seemed to give the man a fair amount of trouble. Sam stood and bent down beside Rafe, offering his arm to the man. Rafe was quite a lot smaller than he was, a fact that became even more obvious when Rafe pressed himself against Sam’s side. His shoulder tucked neatly into Sam’s armpit, and he felt Rafe’s arm slither around his back while he found his balance. 

“You lead the way,” Sam said quietly, his own hand resting against Rafe’s waist. The skin under his hand radiated as much heat as the side that was pressed against him, and Sam tried to look at the surroundings instead of thinking about it. Their slow pace allowed him to take in the layout of the place as they made their way to the stairs. Adjacent to the living area was an extravagant open kitchen, one that Sam suspected would turn even his sub-par skills into Michelin-star quality. Rafe began to slowly ascend the stairs before Sam could see any further, but craning his neck around the staircase he could see a number of closed doors that he thought must have been ground-floor bedrooms.

On the first floor, the stairs evened out onto a mezzanine, and Sam could see the fireplace and couches partly obscured by the glass railing. Together, they continued their slow progression through the upper level hallway, and Sam caught a quick glimpse inside one of the rooms where the door had been left partly ajar. 

“Is anyone staying in those bedrooms?” Sam asked, pointing to the door they’d just passed. Rafe nodded.

“They’re out on the snow.” The tone of Rafe’s voice told Sam to drop the subject, and this time he quietened obediently. Rafe’s bedroom was the last one at the end of the hallway, and Sam had to stop his mouth from falling open when they passed over the threshold. 

Easily surpassing the size of the downstairs living area, Rafe’s bedroom was without a doubt fit for the master of the house. Accented with wood paneling, the bedroom faced out onto a spectacular view of the mountains, partly obscured by half-open curtains. Arguably the biggest bed Sam had ever seen was positioned in the center of the room, covered in a mass of fur blankets that had been crumpled by sleep. Sam found his gaze locked on the recently slept-in bed and barely noticed Rafe separate himself.

“Samuel.” Rafe’s curt call shook him out of his stupor. The younger man stood by a pair of open doors, and Sam could see a bathroom through one, and what looked like a wardrobe behind Rafe. He was holding a change of clothes in his hands, and it suddenly clicked in Sam’s head.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll let you get changed in peace.” He quickly made a move for the hallway, but Rafe spoke again before he could leave the room.

“I need you to help me.” If Rafe was surprised at the startled look on Sam’s face, he didn’t show it.

“I can’t do that,” Sam protested, his voice coming out strained. 

“I don’t exactly want you playing with my pants either, but I can’t get them off while holding my leg.” Rafe gestured at his brace, looking ready to pull it apart. Sam suddenly felt a bit of pity for the man, balancing precariously on one leg - this likely wasn’t the ski holiday he had been imagining. His bad mood could almost be excused. 

“Alright,” Sam nodded - he could be an adult about this. It was still better than shoveling snow outside, after all. 

Using the wall for stability, Rafe made his way to the bed and pushed himself up onto it. The frame was so large that sitting on the edge Rafe’s feet didn’t even touch the ground, and Sam wondered what a guy needed such a mammoth bed for. Immediately after, Sam’s mind came up with a number of explicit reasons why, and he bit his lip.

Rafe was quiet as he changed shirts, and Sam’s eyes drifted over him while his head was concealed by the fabric. There was a light dusting of dark hair on his broad chest, which narrowed down to slim hips and a dark strip under his navel. Sam quickly averted his gaze as soon as Rafe’s head was visible, and Rafe gave him a suspicious look when their eyes met. 

“I’m going to need to keep my knee still once the brace is off, so you’ll have to help me pull these on.” He pointed to the pants draped on the bed beside him. Thankfully, they weren’t skinny jeans.

“How did you do it last night?” Sam asked, moving closer to Rafe as he started to undo the velcro straps. Rafe looked up briefly.

“Sedated.”

“Ah,” Sam frowned, watching as Rafe gently lifted his knee free. 

“Okay, just get over here and help, so we can forget about this.” The bed felt smaller than it looked when Sam climbed onto it, and he struggled to find a stable position on the soft mattress. After a second of rearranging, he realized that he’d put Rafe in a compromising position, on his hands and knees nearly atop the smaller man. Their faces were close together - too close - and Rafe stared up at him, unblinking. 

Coughing lightly, Sam leaned back so that he was kneeling with his hands free, Rafe’s shins between his legs. It certainly wasn’t great, but it felt less like the scenario Sam had been imagining in his head. Rafe’s skin was hot to the touch as Sam’s hands grasped his waistband, the backs of his fingers touching the smooth skin underneath. Shimmying the silk pants down over his thighs, Sam found himself far too close to Rafe’s briefs, and he hoped he wouldn’t notice the way his breath caught in his throat. 

Apart from some discomfort from Rafe when they pulled fabric past his knee, the pants were exchanged uneventfully, but Sam still felt out of breath by the time they’d finished. As soon as Rafe pushed his hands away to do the rest himself, Sam put a good distance between them, climbing off the bed and moving a few steps away. When Rafe looked up again, Sam saw that his cheeks were flushed. The air between them felt heavy, and Sam blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“I’ll fix us something to eat.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments that you all sent me after the last chapter! They are what keeps me going, and hopefully they'll keep me motivated to write when I start working on essays from next week.
> 
> I wrote this chapter one way but ended up changing it quite drastically during the editing stage because the characters didn't sound quite right. I'm quite proud of this chapter now, so I hope you enjoy it too!

Having left Rafe upstairs to finish getting dressed - he could “do the rest himself, thank you,” the man had said red-faced - Sam traipsed downstairs and made the only thing he knew he couldn’t mess up on the first try: toasted cheese sandwiches. They had always been an old favorite of Nathan’s and as he lathered on the cheese, Sam hoped that it would give Rafe some comfort too. 

He was just plating up when a sound at the top of the stairs alerted him to Rafe’s presence. The man had dressed up significantly, exchanging his pajamas for a much smarter outfit that made Sam feel under-dressed. He’d paired the loose pants that Sam had helped him put on with a slim woolen sweatshirt, and added what must have been half a tube of gel to his hair - slicking it back tidily. Sam found the whole look completely contrived for the situation, but he delighted in the view regardless.

He didn’t comment on Rafe’s drastic change of appearance, but as the man laid a napkin down in his lap, settling in the chair opposite, he wondered if Rafe had been expecting it. Neither of them could deny that they’d been toeing some invisible line all morning - playing a tentative game that had left no one with the upper hand. Sam ate his sandwich in silence, smirking slightly at Rafe’s horrified expression as greasy cheese threatened to run down his hands. 

“Before you feel too pleased for yourself, I’m only eating this because I can’t be bothered making anything else, you know,” Rafe warned, brandishing the sandwich at Sam. The look on the man’s face was serious but Sam caught sight of a sparkle in his eyes, and smiled triumphantly to himself that Rafe had secretly enjoyed the greasy treat. 

Sam cleared their mess away as soon as both plates were empty, and by the time he’d finished washing the dishes, Rafe had returned to his spot in front of the fire with a book, his knee propped up with a cushion. Sam ambled over to the couch and leaned into Rafe’s vision.

“What can I do now, your highness?” He asked, grinning when Rafe turned to raise an eyebrow in his direction. “May I rub your feet?” 

“I don’t really care what you do,” Rafe replied, “But if you touch my feet, I may break your nose.” Sam stood up to his full height, his grin even wider after Rafe’s snide response. He did still need something to occupy the rest of his day, though, and as fun as teasing Rafe was, he thought that it was time to do something productive.

Sam scratched the back of his neck.

“What do the workers here usually do?” He tried again. Maybe there was an instruction booklet somewhere with instructions on what needed cleaning - and how to deal with the lodge’s peculiar resident. Finally placing his book down beside him, Rafe gave Sam an odd look.

“You're the first,” he said, pausing when he saw Sam’s confusion, “My father hired you for the day because he thought his lame son might need some help taking a piss or something.” 

The change in Rafe’s tone surprised Sam: he was already used to the man’s cold humor, but the mention of his father had turned the room instantly sour. Sam desperately wanted to pry further into the topic, but the look on Rafe’s face told him to drop the subject immediately. Not wanting to get sent back down the mountain with his tail between his legs, Sam instead asked where the cleaning equipment was, earning a cursory wave towards the kitchen.

“In the cabinet,” Rafe answered as he returned to his book, “Just don't break anything.” Relieved to have a task beyond standing silently in the corner, Sam located a bucket of cleaning supplies and took them upstairs. 

He took the stairs two at a time until he arrived at the first door: one of the spare bedrooms that they’d passed earlier. Sam gingerly opened the door and shut it behind him without a sound - if he decided to snoop around a little while he cleaned, Rafe didn’t need to know.

This bedroom wasn’t as elaborate as the master, but it was certainly nothing to shoo at - it would not have been out of place as a hotel room. In fact, it was as sterile as a hotel room too, without any belongings that would have indicated a permanent resident. Sam looked through the wardrobe and found it nearly empty, with only a spare blanket folded neatly on a high shelf. Regardless of what Rafe argued, no one could have possibly been staying in this room. 

His suspicions confirmed, Sam gave the room a once-over, but everything about the bedroom from its bedspread to the en-suite bathroom was immaculate. Sam even struggled to find something that needed to be dusted. Continuing down the hall, he found the same situation in the next room, and the next one after that. Unless someone else had been in Rafe’s bed with him last night, he was staying in the lodge on his own.

Dragging his bucket to the end of the hall, Sam couldn’t help but feel a ball of sympathy building in his stomach. Their upbringing hadn’t been easy, but Sam had always had his brother beside him, and he didn’t wish loneliness on his worst enemy. Alone in this huge lodge at the top of a mountain - it was no wonder Rafe had such a cold disposition.

Rafe’s room was lived in, at least, and Sam found that he could wile away most of the afternoon cleaning it from top to bottom. Rafe wasn't particularly untidy - most of his clothes had made it to the hamper in the corner - but mantles needed dusting, bedspreads needed folding, and he scrubbed until his hands were raw in the bathroom. Although his cleaning took him through the entire room, not once did Sam find anything that particularly personalized the space. Even Sam had stuck a photo of himself and Nathan on the wall beside his bunk. But here in Rafe’s bedroom, the best Sam could find was a toothbrush and pot of hair gel, and some unremarkable clothes in the wardrobe. 

By the time Sam had finished, feeling pleasantly tired from the hard work, the sky was darkening outside and the curtains in Rafe’s bedroom needed to be drawn. His stomach growled as he made his way back downstairs, and a quick look at his phone told him that it was nearly 5pm - time for Sam to finish for the day.

“Rafe?” He called out, “Are you hungry?” Receiving no reply, Sam put the bucket away back under the sink and went to investigate.

He didn’t need to look far. Faint snores emanated from the couch, and rounding the corner Sam saw Rafe fast asleep against the cushions. The still-open book lay forgotten on his chest, gently rising and falling with every breath. Coming closer, Sam saw that Rafe’s mouth was partly open, his moist lips forming a slight pout. 

Sam eyed the door. The right thing to do would have been to leave and return to his lodge, arriving before it got too dark to see the markers. He certainly wasn’t going to be paid more if he stayed later into the evening. But his mind conjured up thoughts of Rafe waking up cold and hungry, and with no one else to stoke the fire and prepare food he was going to struggle to do both on one leg. Giving a decisive nod, Sam decided that he would fix the fire and put something together for tea, and if Rafe wanted him to go afterward, well, he’d find himself a torch. 

Rafe remained asleep even as Sam bustled around him to stoke the fire, eventually moving to bang pots and pans in the kitchen. As expected, it was stocked like a small supermarket, but Sam still paced for a few minutes trying to decide what to cook. He certainly knew enough to get by - he could make a meal out of any three ingredients these days - but Rafe seemed like a Coq au Vin guy while Sam was definitely a cup noodle. The thought was making him increasingly nervous, so he quickly pulled out some cans of soup and decided that they would have to do.

Hunger always trumped fatigue, as Sam knew, and as soon as the soup started getting fragrant, Rafe appeared silently at his side. He peered into the big pot, blearily rubbing at his eyes, and he only spoke when he saw Sam looking at him. 

“Your shift finished at five.”

“I know.”

Rafe didn't reply again, but instead chose to focus on the simmering soup. He hadn’t asked him to leave, so Sam felt the thrill of a small victory - he was in the lodge as a guest now, not an employee. Hobbling over to one of the cupboards, Rafe found two bowls that he brought back to Sam. Their hands touched - just a bump of fingers as the bowls exchanged hands - and Sam felt his face get a little hot. He blamed it on the steaming soup.

Once the soup was split into two portions, Sam let Rafe lead them to the table, walking close in case the man stumbled. Rafe sat down heavily, nudging the chair beside him. It was an invitation, and Sam couldn’t hide the small smile as he settled down beside Rafe. The meal passed quietly in the sort of comfortable silence that Sam would usually associate with an old friend. As he tried not to slurp his soup, Rafe’s leg brushed against his, and neither of them moved away.

Snow had a habit of falling quietly even in a blizzard, which was a fact that only became apparent when Sam tried to leave the lodge once the dinner dishes had been cleared. A blast of cold air affronted them both as he opened the front door, and a wall of snow fell on the floor around Sam’s shoes. Behind him, only in slippers, Rafe managed to hop to safety, but his hand flew to Sam’s arm and that did not go unnoticed.

“It's freezing out there - hurry up and shut the door behind you,” Rafe said grumpily. Sam didn’t blame him for the sudden attitude - the wind was already beginning to lower the temperature of the room. Sam glanced down at where Rafe was still holding onto his arm, firm enough that he’d struggle to leave even if he wanted to.

“The storm’s settled in already,” Sam replied, squinting out into the darkness. Snow had completely covered the markers that had been his way to the lodge that morning, and he didn't look forward to digging his way back in the dark. “I can't see the path.”

“I wouldn't want you to get lost and freeze to death,” Rafe said after a moment , “I suppose you could sleep on the couch.” 

A little bit thrilled by the prospect, Sam shut the front door before Rafe could change his mind, forcing the wall of snow back outside. Instantly the air around them began to heat up again, and Rafe’s hand disappeared just as quickly as the cold. 

“We might as well sit down then,” Rafe offered, nodding at the couch. Sam shrugged an agreement and Rafe led them over, sitting on the smaller suite that was closer to the flames. There was a lot less room to maneuver on this couch, and Sam saw Rafe struggle to find somewhere to elevate his leg. Hesitating, Sam put his hand gently on the injured knee.

“May I?” He asked, watching Rafe’s face carefully. When he received a small nod in response, Sam gently lifted Rafe’s leg up onto his lap. He had to stop himself from running a hand gently along Rafe’s calf, but he doubted that it would have been noticed: Rafe’s face was calm beside him as he rested his head against the back cushions.

“You got anyone to get back to?” Rafe asked after what felt like a long time, his voice sounding loud compared to the crackling of the fire. Sam was surprised by the question - Rafe had looked ready to nod off only a few minutes before. Now, the man’s eyes were questioning, searching his face for a non-verbal response. He wasn’t sure if Rafe meant down at the lodge or generally by his question, but he shook his head regardless.

“I've got a younger brother and a few work contacts, but I’m here on my own.” Rafe shuffled on the cushion, and Sam could have sworn that they were closer now than before. He was close enough that Rafe could have rested his head on his shoulder - had he wanted to.

“No one special?” Rafe pressed again, his voice gentle in his ear. Sam glanced at him, feeling for the first time the way Rafe’s body was nestled against his. The warmth was making them both drowsy, and although Rafe’s gaze was still interested, his eyes were slowly beginning to droop.

Sam had forgotten the question, but it didn’t seem important now. Rafe watched him, and for the first time Sam saw that there was brown within his pale blue eyes. Then they slipped shut, and Sam felt his own eyes closing too.

The first kiss was gentle, just the softest pressure of lips on his own. They pulled back, and when opened their eyes to look at each other, Rafe’s expression was unreadable. 

They kissed again, and Sam gently took Rafe’s bottom lip in his mouth, sucking it softly before releasing him again. Rafe had leaned forward to press their mouths together, and Sam gently clasped their hands, pulling Rafe until he was comfortably in Sam’s lap.

This time when they kissed, Sam’s hands found their way around Rafe’s body, holding him steady at the hips so that Rafe could hold his face with both hands. Their mouths didn’t break away from each other this time, deepening instead. Sam nibbled gently at his lip and Rafe sighed, dropping his hands to hold fistfuls of Sam’s shirt. One hand falling to the curve of Rafe’s ass, Sam brought his other hand up to the back of his head, pulling them even closer as he encouraged Rafe’s mouth to open. 

Rafe obeyed without further prompting, letting Sam explore with his tongue as he made small sounds in the back of his throat. The sensation was heavenly, and Sam felt them sinking further down into the cushions. 

Rafe’s fingers were cold on Sam’s stomach as he reached down to unbutton his pants, and the sensation made Sam break the kiss, tilting his head away so that Rafe was kissing his neck instead. The man continued nibbling and sucking there for a few slow seconds, as if taking a while to realize that Sam had moved. When he eventually did notice, he pulled his head away abruptly, removing his hands and letting them fall by his side as he gave Sam a wary look.

“Is everything okay?” Rafe’s voice was timid, so quiet now in the large room, and Sam thought that this might have been the first time that he’d seen Rafe looking truly unsure. He looked almost ethereal, with the pale skin of his cheeks flushed with red and his lips swollen from Sam’s ministrations. It didn’t feel right, Sam thought, for him to rut Rafe on the couch and disappear by morning. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” He said said simply, unable to elaborate further. He wished he knew the right thing to say, especially as Rafe slowly untangled himself from Sam, looking miserable as his gaze flew anywhere except his face. The words felt stuck in his throat.

“You’re not like the others-” Sam tried again but, having pushed himself to his feet, Rafe gave him a pained look. 

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you, Samuel,” he spat, clenching his fists tightly against his thighs. Sam tried to stand up, holding out one hand to the man, but Rafe stopped him with a shove on his shoulder. He hit the cushions again, feeling pain not from the fall, but from the expression on Rafe’s face.

“Don’t fucking try me, Samuel.” Rafe rubbed his eyes roughly, jamming his palms against them as if trying to erase Sam completely. He wanted to tell Rafe that it was all a big misunderstanding, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, and Rafe’s eyes were beginning to shine with unbroken tears. Before he could say anything, Rafe was gone, hurrying upstairs and not even slowing down when he stumbled on the steps and his bad knee hit the edge.

Sam was frozen in place until he heard the sound of a door slamming upstairs, and only then did he feel able to look around. The fire was blazing just as strongly as it had been before, but somehow the room felt freezing and he couldn’t stop a shiver from racking his body.

He stood up, if only to break the tense air that seemed to have settled around him. He wanted to go up and talk to Rafe, but he didn’t think the man had any patience left to listen to him. 

It felt wrong to lie back down on the couch, curling his legs up until his whole body was wedged against the seat cushions, but Sam didn’t know what else to do. He tried to think up what he could say to Rafe in the morning, but his mind was blank and all he could think about was the way Rafe’s mouth had felt sliding against his. Somehow, the fact that he was still thinking about it sickened him and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that the oblivion of sleep would take him sooner rather than later. He would make sure that he was gone before Rafe woke up the next morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! This was another re-write chapter and classes have started, so fitting in an hour of writing a night has become increasingly difficult. I've nearly finished the full draft of this fic though, so don't anybody worry that I'll abandon it before it's completed - this is my baby now!
> 
> I've got a love-hate relationship with this chapter. Hopefully you all enjoy it

A noise woke Sam in the middle of the night, and it took a few seconds for the grogginess to disperse enough to realize that his phone was ringing. Sam fumbled for it in the dark, finding it eventually stuffed between the seat cushions. He’d only slept for a few hours, which made the fuzzy feeling between his ears a little more understandable, but that all disappeared the moment he recognized the caller ID. 

“Nathan?” He croaked, clutching the phone to his ear with both hands. “How are you?” 

There was a lot of background noise on the other end of the line - it sounded like his brother was calling from a crowded restaurant. Sam guessed that they must have just returned from the remote area where they’d been working, and were either celebrating a success or the knowledge that they had one less place to look. Even after weeks of failure, Nathan was always chirpy. 

“Sully and I just got back from the ruins we were exploring,” Nathan answered affirmatively, his voice buoyant. “And, no trip to the emergency room this time!”

Sam laughed, relieved that his brother was safe and injury-free. Although Nathan was acting less like a foolhardy teenager and more like an adult these days, Sam definitely preferred it when he was reading books in an old library. Unfortunately, even reading was occasionally fraught with danger when his brother was involved. “I’m hoping the twenty stitches you got last time will be enough until next year.” 

“I told you that one was an accident!” He heard his brother protest, “Who could have known that the ceiling would cave in on my head like that?” They both erupted into laughter at the joke - more amusing now than it had been when Sam received the late-night call that his baby brother was in Victoria Hospital in Cairo.

It felt good talking to Nathan again, even though it had only been several days since their last correspondence. Having been so connected at the hip in their youth - with Sam looking after the both of them when things got tough - it was particularly difficult to be apart as adults. But since Nathan had Victor around to keep him company - a close friend that had never seen Sam in a very good light - Sam sensed that he was probably the only one feeling the familiar pull of loneliness tonight. 

“What’s going on in Colorado?” He heard Nathan ask, and Sam suddenly found himself wary of mentioning the events of the evening, or in fact, anything about Rafe at all. But he was anxious for advice and he knew he’d regret not telling his brother later, so Sam began to recount everything from the moment they’d first met on the mountain all the way up to their argument earlier. Nathan stayed silent on the other end, refusing to speak until Sam had completely finished. Retelling the story turned out to be therapeutic, but there was still no magic epiphany to find at the end. 

“If it was going so well between the two of you, why did you stop?” Nathan asked, immediately broaching the question that Sam had been hoping to avoid. He felt a spark of defensiveness flare up in his chest, but shoved it down immediately. He didn’t want to argue with anyone tonight - least of all his brother. 

“You know how I used to be, Nathan. This… This courting isn’t what I’m used to, and I didn’t want to mess it up. But he got offended because he thought I wasn’t interested and that’s why I’d stopped, and… I think I blew the only chance I’m gonna get.” Sam sighed loudly, and when Nathan replied, he could hear the sympathy in his voice.

“You should cut yourself a break, Sam,” Nathan said, “You obviously have some feelings for Rafe, and for some reason he seems to reciprocate them, so enjoy seeing where they go together. Learn some humility and apologize to the guy, and then I’m sure a little kiss will sort out the rest.” His brother’s voice was teasing, and although Sam wished he could give Nathan a whack over the head for being cheeky, he couldn’t help but laugh. Even though his stomach did feel like it was twisted in a knot.

With the problem solved - according to Nathan, at least - Sam pressed his brother for details about his research for the rest of the phone call, until he heard Victor in the background drawing Nathan’s attention away. Within a few minutes, Sam was bathed in silence again, and he missed the jovial feeling that his brother had brought into the dark room. Now, though, he had a plan, and whatever result came from it, he was going to apologize to Rafe for his behavior. 

Sam flopped back on the couch, tucking his phone safely away in his front pocket. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to fall asleep quickly, so that he could jump straight to the morning. He could only hope that by tomorrow, Rafe would be in a better mood and more receptive to listening to Sam. Concentrating so hard on sleep, Sam got a fright when he heard a sound somewhere beyond the kitchen. This time it definitely had not come from his phone, and so knowing it could only be Rafe, Sam quietly made his way towards the sound, hoping that he could investigate without being noticed.

Visible only from the kitchen, a short hallway extended behind the staircase. Sam tried to make as little noise as possible as he rounded the corner and saw several closed doors - one of which with a strip of light coming from underneath it. He hadn’t heard Rafe come down the stairs during his conversation with Nathan, so he wondered how long the man had been hidden away in there. It felt wrong to enter unannounced, especially if Rafe was inside like he suspected, but Sam didn’t think he’d be able to go back to sleep unless he spoke to Rafe first and cleared his head. If Rafe spat in his face, Sam thought that he probably deserved it.

The door handle turned freely when Sam tried it, which reduced his nerves a little: Rafe would have locked the door had he not wanted to be disturbed. Pushing the door open enough to fit his head through, Sam looked tentatively into the room. He found himself in what seemed to be a small library, with tall oak bookshelves lining three of the walls. It wasn’t as large as a public library, but it was certainly the biggest private collection that Sam had ever seen in a ski lodge. Opposite the door at the other end of the room, a regal-looking desk was positioned in front of a large window. The curtains had been drawn closed, but a small lamp emitted a dull yellow glow that illuminated the figure sitting at the desk. Rafe’s head was stooped, deep in concentration.

“Rafe,” Sam called out, stepping fully inside the room. He was no longer trying to keep quiet, but as he approached the desk he figured that Rafe was either immersed in his reading or just choosing to ignore him, because he didn’t even twitch as Sam approached. He was still dressed in what he’d been wearing earlier in the evening, though the stiff creases of the day were now soft and wrinkled. Although Sam felt that Rafe was ignoring him purely out of spite, he did appear to be reading - an antique-looking tome was laid out on the desk and one of Rafe’s fingers gently traced the words on the page. His other had was gently pulling at the hair close to his scalp, dislodging some of the strands so that they fell onto his forehead.

“What’s that you’re reading?” Sam tried again, now close enough to see the deep frown evident on Rafe’s brow. The man kept his gaze on his book as he turned the page loudly. Now he knew that Rafe was ignoring him. Leaning forward so that his face was definitely in Rafe’s line of sight, Sam looked up and smiled widely. 

“Rafe?”

“What.”

Rafe sounded irritable and he closed the book with a thump, displacing a thin layer of dust that had been resting on the page. Looking up, Rafe narrowed his gaze on him, and Sam immediately felt scrutinized - there was no warmth in his eyes. 

“You couldn’t sleep?” Sam said, feeling the words falter on his tongue even as he said them. Rafe instantly made a sour face, bristling at the question. 

“Don’t do this, Samuel.” His voice was clipped, as if he wanted to finish the conversation quickly so that Sam would go away. A strand of hair was hanging untamed over one of Rafe’s eyebrows, and he had the sudden urge to push it out of his face. Sam kept his hands against the desk instead.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rafe.” He countered with the hint of a smile, teasing Rafe to take the bait. He didn’t expect Rafe to suddenly change - his expression morphing from one of cold displacement to a look of pain. 

“Don’t try and fix this, Samuel. You made me- you fucking got under my skin without even asking. You don’t get to do that, and you don’t get to come back and try and make it better.” Sam gaped for a second, repeating Rafe’s words in his head.

“That’s not what this is, Rafe.” Rafe’s reply was immediate.

“I get it, you don’t want to leave on a bad note, so you’re here to have the obligatory conversation before you disappear and I don’t see you again. Or maybe, you’re here to apologize just enough so that I’ll sleep with you and then-”

“Rafe, please, shut up for a second will you?” Rafe’s mouth snapped close immediately. Sam had heard quite enough. “Just listen.” 

Although he looked furious at being interrupted, the man stayed silent, and Sam appreciated the space to say his piece without judgment.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” He said, fidgeting with the corner of the book as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to upset you. If we’re being honest here, I was worried that I was just treating you like another notch on my belt, and not giving you the respect that you deserved.” Sam paused, watching as Rafe looked at him suspiciously.

“What makes you think that I’m not just looking for sex too?” Sam had to laugh, then - Rafe looked like a petulant child.

“Considering the way you tried to stick your hand down my pants, I wouldn’t be surprised, actually.” Rafe narrowed his eyes, but Sam jumped in before he could make the inevitable denial. “But I had hoped that we could be more than a one night fling on the couch.”

“So you felt something more, too?” Rafe replied with such an uncharacteristically soft voice that Sam met his gaze, watching his hard shell falter. When he replied, he made sure that his voice was forceful. 

“Jesus, Rafe, of course I felt something - I’m feeling something right now just looking at you, damn it. Obviously in the process of trying not to muck things up, I mucked them up even more, but often I’m not good at much more than having sex and being gone by morning.” Rafe looked startled by his outburst, and he sat in silence for so long that Sam thought the conversation might have ended. Just as he was considering leaving Rafe to his thoughts the man spoke again, drawing his attention back. 

“You shouldn’t worry. People don’t tend to stick around longer than that, anyway.”

“Is that why no one else is here?” Rafe looked up, startled by the question. It was as if he hadn’t expected to be confronted on the subject, and Sam wondered how long he would have kept up the ruse had Sam not brought it up himself. He waited for a reply that never arrived, and took the silence as answer enough. The man seemed to have visibly deflated in front of him - his whole body sagging like a huge weight had fallen onto his shoulders. Sam suddenly thought of Rafe at home, struggling to make friends - not even able to persuade one to come with him on a ski vacation.

Pushing away from the desk, Sam took a few steps back, watching as Rafe’s eyes followed his movement.

“Come ‘ere,” Sam said, holding out one of his arms as an invitation. Rafe didn’t protest, dragging himself to his feet and making his way to Sam’s side. His limp was noticeably worse than earlier - almost as bad as when the injury had first occurred - and Sam remembered the way he’d hit his knee on the way up the stairs that evening. He made a mental note to check it out when things had settled down.

Rafe reached Sam and hit him with surprising force, pressing his face into Sam’s chest and wrapping his arms tightly around his middle. Overwhelmed by the show of weakness, Sam’s arms slipped around his body, stroking his back gently until the grip around his chest slackened a little.

“Can I get a kiss?” Sam asked gently, tilting Rafe’s chin up with one finger. Rafe didn’t recoil, allowing the movement, but he shook his head and Sam let the hand fall away.

“I want to go to bed, please,” Rafe said, his face back in Sam’s chest. Repositioning him to his side so that they wouldn’t trip over each other, Sam gently led them away from the desk, passing the shelves of books on the way out of the room. Rafe didn’t say anything on the way to the bedroom, but he reached out and switched off the light switches that they passed, leaving behind a wake of darkness.

At his bedside, Rafe kicked off his clothes, stripping as if shedding layers of his own skin. It felt too private to watch, and with every layer that Rafe removed, Sam felt that he reduced himself a little further, until only a small shadow remained. 

When he was nude apart from a pair of briefs, Rafe slipped between the sheets, dragging himself to the middle of the mattress and pulling the heavy furs around him. Sam didn’t realize he was still standing at the door until Rafe asked him to turn the light off. Pressing one finger to the switch, Sam took advantage of the last second of light to look at Rafe, looking tiny in the bed with the blankets pulled up to his chin. Giving the smallest smile, Sam flicked the light and bathed the room in darkness.

“G’night, Rafe,” He said in the direction of the bed, taking a step out of the room so that he could pull the door shut behind him. A muffled reply reached his ears, but it had been so obscured by blankets that Sam had to ask him to repeat it.

“The couch downstairs isn’t very comfortable,” Rafe said from the darkness, with an accompanying rustle that sounded like the man had sat up. Sam shrugged, instantly realizing that it was too dark to see.

“It’s no bother, the couch is fine,” He reiterated. Sleeping on the couch also gave him an easy escape route the next morning if he needed it. Rafe hadn’t suggested another attempt at what they’d started last night, and considering how he’d declined Sam’s attempt for a kiss, he thought it was best if the door was close at hand if a hurried exit was needed. He did not wish to have the inevitable awkward morning conversation.

“There’s space here,” Rafe pressed, and suddenly Sam felt like an idiot for not noting the suggestion immediately. Perhaps this was Rafe’s way of rekindling what they’d had before. Not bothering to turn the light back on, Sam crossed the room to the other side of the bed and began to strip off his own clothes, leaving on his briefs like Rafe had done. By the time he’d finished, his eyes had mostly adjusted to the darkness, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw Rafe watching from the bed. He had propped himself up on one elbow and the heavy blankets had slipped off, leaving his shoulders and chest bare. 

Leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, Sam slid under the covers, taking a few seconds to rearrange himself until he was lying on his side facing Rafe. There was a gap between them - nearly enough space for a whole extra person - but it felt impassable. Even reaching an arm over to touch Rafe was a risk that Sam wasn’t willing to take. Instead, he pulled the blankets up around his shoulders, careful not to disturb the half that was draped over Rafe, and settled into the soft mattress. Rafe had been right about the couch being uncomfortable, after all. 

Rafe had slid down again, lying with his cheek pressed against his pillow, but he didn’t take his eyes off Sam. Sam could see him staring, and he wondered if he was meant to make some sort of move, but Rafe still hadn’t made an indication that he wanted any physical contact beyond the act of sharing bed space. Sam was just considering turning over when Rafe spoke.

“You can kiss me now, if you want.” Rafe’s voice was hesitant, and Sam wondered how much willpower it had taken to make the suggestion. Not wanting to scare him off but also not wanting to lose what was likely one of his last chances, Sam didn’t hesitate, and he shuffled across the sheets until their bodies were nearly touching. Snaking his hand up to Rafe’s cheek, Sam kissed him, feeling the soft cushion of Rafe’s pillow under his head and the soft press of Rafe’s lips. He felt one of Rafe’s hands move as their lips slid together, traveling up from Sam’s stomach to rest on his chest. When Rafe broke the kiss, pulling his face away just far enough that Sam could still feel the warmth of his breath on his cheeks, his hand stayed put, gently tracing on his skin.

“Thank you,” Sam whispered, moving his hand to the curve of Rafe’s back and encouraging him to settle closer. Rafe obliged, turning over and shifting until his back was pressed snuggly against Sam’s chest. Sam draped a heavy arm over his middle, pulling him close enough that he could feel the curve of his ass against his belly. Spreading his hand against Rafe’s torso, he gently caressed the soft hair on his chest until Rafe’s hand found his, clasping it still. 

“Goodnight, Sam.” Rafe’s voice was calm, sounding nearly asleep already, and Sam held him the rest of the way, waiting until Rafe’s body relaxed and his breathing turned heavy before he followed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've found these past couple of chapters quite hard to edit for some reason, but I like how they've turned out in the end. Next chapter, things start picking up, so look forward to some good ol' action!

The feeling of sunlight streaming across his face woke Sam from his deep slumber the next morning. He blinked several times, slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the morning light that had slipped through the gap in the curtains. Sam relished in the sensation of cool silk against his sleep-hot body as he stretched out under the covers, elongating his limbs in the space.

Beside him, close enough to touch with an outstretched hand, Rafe continued to sleep soundly. A ray of light painted one side of his face, and Sam was surprised that it hadn’t disturbed him yet. Rafe was holding a ball of sheets in one fist, pressed into his middle, leaving his shoulders and chest bare.

Gently enough so as not to disturb him, Sam reached out to trace the skin of Rafe’s shoulder. He ran his thumb over his collar, down across his torso, and around one of the dark nipples surrounded by soft hair. Rafe’s chest rose and fell under Sam’s touch, and his face was peaceful with an air of vulnerability that was concealed during the day. It was a significant something that he was here to see the expression at all. Usually, waking up in bed with someone was a stressful affair, with Sam anxious to disappear before his bed partner woke up to catch him. But this morning Sam took his time, wondering not just if he could spare a few minutes, but whether he could stay in bed with Rafe all day.

Rafe finally stirred when Sam’s hand rose to caress his cheek, the back of his hand brushing the stubble that had grown overnight. He curled up with a small sigh, but after a few moments took a slow inhale and opened his eyes. Sam relished the way he still looked half asleep as he scanned the room lazily. His eyes were hooded and dark and after a few moments, Sam caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Good morning,” Sam said, leaning forward for a kiss. Rafe shut his eyes as their lips touched, humming a greeting, but as soon as they’d parted he burrowed himself back into the sheets, pulling the fur blanket over his shoulders. The sight made Sam’s heart swell, and he wanted nothing more than to pull Rafe tightly against his front with the fur around them, but his morning coffee and cigarette were calling. Rafe could rest a little longer - last night he’d likely had a broken sleep at best.

Leaving the coziness of the bed, Sam slid out from beneath the covers and knelt down to retrieve his clothes - still in a pile where he’d left them. By the time he’d pulled them on - he’d take a shower and put on clean clothes after breakfast - Rafe looked like he was already asleep again. Sam made sure not to make too much noise when he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Downstairs the living room was as warm as the bedroom, kept at temperature by the fire that had burned slowly through the night. Sam went straight to the coffee machine first, flicking the switch with one hand before adding a couple of logs to the fire. His packet of cigarettes and lighter were still safely in his jacket hanging by the door, and he transferred them to his pocket before leaning against the counter to wait for the coffee to be ready.

There was no balcony in the Adler lodge, so once he had his coffee Sam found himself lighting up a cigarette on the front steps instead. The air was significantly cooler outside, but a jacket draped over his shoulders shielded him from most of the chill. Breathing the smoke in deeply, Sam thought that this had been the best morning he’d had in a long time. He thought of Rafe upstairs, still catching his last minutes of sleep, and suddenly a thought entered his head of the same morning, but this time in their own apartment that they'd paid for together. He caught the thought before it went too far - there was no point getting ahead of himself, but the thought didn’t frighten him as much as it could have. More than one fling had tried to wrangle some commitment from him in the past - usually with little success, but this time was the first that Sam could imagine himself.

The sound of the door opening startled him momentarily, but he gave a smile as Rafe dropped down onto the steps beside him. He’d wrapped himself in a plush white robe, but the bare legs poking out the bottom made Sam suspicious that he hadn’t dressed further before coming outside.

“You’re going to catch a cold out here,” Sam warned, swearing when Rafe placed his freezing feet on his legs - so cold he could feel them permeate his pants.

“I couldn’t hear you downstairs,” Rafe replied, pulling Sam’s jacket until it covered both of their shoulders. “I’m sorry about last night.”

Placing his coffee mug on the step beside them, Sam took one of Rafe’s hands and squeezed it.

“It’s in the past now, so don’t sweat it.” Rafe glanced at Sam with a look that said he certainly did plan on sweating it a little longer, but he must have decided it was a subject for another day because when he spoke again, the topic had changed.

“You could have smoked inside, you know. I wouldn’t have minded.” Rafe pointed at the cigarette pressed between Sam’s lips. Sam shrugged, his hands falling to play with the hem of Rafe’s robe. It felt expensive, and was monogrammed with his initials in a few places. It was a kind of luxury that Sam had never even considered for himself, and he wondered just how much luxury Rafe had experienced growing up. They may as well have been opposites, he thought.

“I didn’t want to stink up the place,” Sam said, letting Rafe pull his robe free from between his fingers. Rafe lifted his legs onto Sam’s lap, re-positioning himself so that very little skin was left touching the snow. Accommodating the movement, Sam curved his arm around Rafe’s body and began to absently rub his side with one hand.

“I don’t care - it’s not my job to clean it,” Rafe said with a wink, and suddenly, responsible thought came flooding back into Sam’s brain. Work. He straightened his back, nearly dislodging Rafe in the process.

“What time is it now? Jesus, I forgot all about work.” Sam tried to think of how long it would take to get down the mountain if he left straight away, but even if he was fast, the sun was high enough in the sky now that he had a sinking feeling it was already too late. Noting his anxiety, Rafe gave him a knowing smile.

“Stop panicking, you’re rostered here again,” He patted Sam’s chest gently, “You’re right about being late though - it’s quarter past nine.” Sam held his head in one hand, relieved that he wasn’t already fired, but also pleased that Rafe had - at some point - requested him for another day. He assumed it had been before their argument, and he was glad that he hadn't called to change his mind before they'd made up.

“I thought you said you didn’t need any help up here,” Sam said, gently teasing. He noticed Rafe’s robe had begun to slip open a little, revealing the pale skin of his stomach. Rafe didn’t seem to care when he traced a finger along the curve of his hip, pushing it open further.

“When did I say that?” Rafe asked, “I like being pampered.” He grasped Sam’s roaming hand before it could travel too far south, and gestured for the cigarette loosely hanging between Sam’s lips. “May I?”

Sam opened his mouth slightly, letting Rafe rescue the cigarette before popping it in his own mouth. Sam was surprised as he took a deep inhale of the smoke - he hadn’t taken Rafe for a smoker. Almost immediately, Rafe’s face screwed up and he coughed loudly, stubbing the cigarette on the ground beside him. Sam looked forlornly at the crushed nicotine in the snow.

“That tasted like an ash-tray,” Rafe complained, sticking out his tongue as if the cold air would help remove the taste from his mouth.

“What were you expecting?” Sam asked with a chuckle, pulling a sour-looking Rafe back against his body.

“I thought it might taste like you, but that wasn’t the case.”

“If you wanted me to kiss you, you only needed to ask,” Sam said, kissing Rafe before he could reply. He ran his hands along Rafe’s hips under the robe, feeling the curve of his ass covered only by thin cotton. Rafe tasted like coffee and cigarettes, and the flavor was intoxicating enough that Sam had to pull him closer and closer until there was no space left between them.

When they parted, their breaths forming small puffs of steam in the air between them, Rafe’s cheeks were flushed. He looked a little embarrassed as he retied his robe tightly around his body - Sam had nearly gotten it fully open, and he mourned the loss. Putting one hand on Rafe’s knee, Sam began to lean forward, ready to continue the kissing now that they'd had a few seconds of rest, but Rafe flinching made him sit back immediately.

“You alright?” Rafe nodded with gritted teeth and touched his hand to his knee.

“It’s more sore than usual this morning,” he replied, and Sam remembered the way he’d hit it on the stairs last night. Sometime after their argument, Rafe must have taken off the brace, because now Sam could see the swollen skin for the first time since the accident. He gestured to the bruising.

“Maybe I could help with that? I’ve been told I give pretty good massages.” Rafe gave him a look of disbelief.

“You, a masseuse? Oh, and I’m an astronaut.” Sam rolled his eyes as he gently pushed Rafe’s hands aside, replacing them with his own hands. He gently felt around Rafe’s knee, looking for the edges of the swelling.

“Well that was just rude,” He said, gently pressing his thumbs along the skin. “Here I am, offering my craft to you - free of charge, might I add - out of the goodness of my own heart, and you mock me?” Rafe laughed heartily, temporarily distracted from the pain.

“You’re certainly a lot of things, Samuel, but a masseuse isn’t one of them.” Rafe pulled his leg away, tucking it well out of Sam’s reach, but he let Sam link their fingers together.

“If I wanted to take you out tonight, would you say yes?” Sam asked. Rafe looked up, startled by the question.

“A date?” He blinked.

“You said it, not me.” Rafe poked his tongue out but didn’t immediately decline, so Sam continued. “We could go down to my lodge - it’s a Friday, so there’s bound to be a good party later.”

“Parties aren’t really my scene,” Rafe said, looking a little skeptical. Sam wasn’t much of a fan of the parties himself, but taking a date along would be a new experience, and secretly the thought of Rafe loosening up gave him a thrill too.

“I’ll give you another massage,” Sam warned, wiggling his fingers at Rafe. His face morphed into a look of horror, and he held his hands up in surrender.

“You can’t be serious? I’ll only go with you if you promise not to give me another massage.”

Sam laughed and stuck out his hand for Rafe to shake.

“That’s a deal, Adler.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not every day on the mountain is a bluebird day...

As he stepped into his lodge for the first time that day, Sam briefly wondered what the other workers were going to think. Clutching onto his arm, with his reattached brace hidden strategically under loose pants, Rafe looked out of his element. He’d tried to dress up, arguing that he felt most comfortable in a nice button-up shirt, but Sam had talked him down to a gray t-shirt and jeans. Rafe had slicked his hair back, too - using what had looked like a whole tub of hair gel back in his en-suite bathroom - and Sam looked forward to an opportunity to mess it up thoroughly.

As he’d hoped, the party inside was raging - full of people sick of the daily grind who were ready to dance the night away. By himself, it was purgatory, but with Rafe by his side, suddenly the loud music and cheap alcohol were thrilling. Rafe’s wardrobe debacle had taken longer than Sam had anticipated, so their arrival came when most of the other workers had been celebrating for several hours already, and he felt unpleasantly like the only sober person in the room. It was too loud to be heard over the music, so Sam took Rafe’s arm and tugged him gently through the mass of dancers towards the kitchen. 

On the dance floor, people danced in partners or small groups, swaying to the music. People grabbed at Sam’s shirt, making garbled sounds that could have been offers to dance. He forced a way through without stopping, his hand tightly gripping Rafe by the wrist, so he didn’t get swallowed entirely. Thankfully, most of the guests were on the dance floor, leaving them with free reign over the kitchen.

“What stuff is yours?” Rafe asked as he leaned against the bench, surveying the half-empty bottles that littered the counter. Sam shrugged.

“None of it,” He laughed, “Just pick what you want from the fridge.” Looking skeptical, Rafe turned to look, and someone handed Sam a shot over the counter. He threw it back, slamming the glass down before Rafe had even turned around. It was going to be a good night, Sam could feel it. 

Closing the fridge with a thud, Rafe turned back to Sam holding two cans of beer. Sam took the one offered to him and immediately downed half of it, enjoying the way Rafe’s smirked as he opened his can.

“Think you can keep up?” Sam teased, wrapping a heavy arm around Rafe’s shoulders - spilling some of his drink in the process. Rafe’s eyes blazed with competition, and without replying he tipped his head back and drank, taking gulping swallows for a few seconds before placing the empty can forcefully on the counter. Sam couldn’t hide his appreciation, but whether it was beginner’s luck or a practiced skill? It was too early in the night to tell which category Rafe fell into. 

Sam kissed him then, rough and sloppy, pressed up against the counter already sticky with alcohol. Sam could taste the beer on Rafe’s breath, and every touch felt like a spark of electricity going through Sam’s entire body. He knew he wasn’t drunk from his half-can of beer, but from the way he was feeling, Sam thought that maybe Rafe was just so damn intoxicating that it overshadowed their drinks entirely. 

Breaking the kiss, Sam spun around to peruse the fridge again, landing on a tall bottle of vodka that wasn’t nearly empty like most of the others alongside it. It burned his throat as he drank, but had it been a long time since he’d been drinking spirits straight from the bottle, and the feeling wasn’t altogether unpleasant with Rafe pressing so close against his side. As he paused for breath, Rafe freed the bottle from Sam’s hand and took a drink himself - matching Sam drink for drink. He pulled his lips from the bottle with a wet pop and looked up at Sam with a sly expression. His cheeks were already reddening - from the alcohol this time, Sam guessed.

“Let’s dance,” Rafe said, not waiting for confirmation before pulling Sam onto the dance floor. 

Rafe took them right into the center of the group, clutching Sam with one hand and the bottle in the other. Periodically, he would take a drink, and Sam had to tug it out of his grasp just to have some for himself. Around them, people were beginning to whirl, their movements seeming faster since Sam wasn’t moving. He was usually a bop-to-the-beat sort of guy, but the song didn’t have an easily distinguishable beat, and Sam felt uncomfortable stepping from side to side on the off-tempo. Contrarily, Rafe took to the song as if he’d been dancing for years. He swayed his body to the rhythm, holding up the bottle with his eyes shut in delight. Sam had never seen this side of them, and he forced himself to dance a little more enthusiastically, not wanting to lose Rafe in the throng of people who were better at dancing than he was. 

“Too fast for you, Samuel?” Rafe leaned forward to whisper in Sam’s ear, his body still moving even while they were in such proximity. Sam shook his head, ready to protest that he just needed more to drink, but the way Rafe guided his hands around his body stole the words from Sam’s mouth. He positioned them low on his back, encouraging Sam to run his hands under his shirt where his skin was burning hot. Holding onto Rafe was like taming an animal with the way his body was moving, but Sam held fast with his hands, sliding them over Rafe’s ass to pull them closer together.

They passed the time like this, dancing with no space left between their bodies. The songs blurred into one long expanse of music until Sam couldn’t distinguish the ending of one from the beginning of the other. Rafe stayed valiantly dancing, with an energy that Sam suspected was the only thing keeping him on his feet. Next to them, the other dancers had begun to partner off - as they tended to do as the night drew to an end. As the music slowed down, Rafe stopped his crazed dancing and turned and pressed his back into Sam’s chest so that they could sway to the now slower rhythm. His body was heaving with exertion, and Sam could see the sheen of sweat on his neck. 

Sam looked around; his arms wrapped tightly around Rafe’s middle. The room seemed to spin around him, and Sam realized that they had gotten a lot drunker than they’d anticipated. Rafe didn’t seem to mind, though, grinning as he was, but at least the bottle of spirits seemed to have disappeared in the fracas, so they would be inevitably sobering eventually.

At this point, most people had seemed to have forgotten about the music entirely, dragging a partner in the direction of the bedrooms or even on the couches pushed against the walls. Nearly pressed against Sam’s side, a couple were kissing passionately, and the guy was fumbling with one hand up the girl’s dress. It felt a little too close for comfort, so he steered Rafe in the direction of the wall, seeing an empty couch that didn’t look like it had had beer spilt on it yet.

Rafe toppled onto the cushions, laughing louder than Sam had ever seen him do. It gave him a thrill - seeing this new side of the man who until now had been remarkably composed. Sam climbed onto the couch after him, positioning his body so that he was lying in between Rafe’s spread legs. Grabbing his shirt to pull their mouths together, Rafe wasted no time in kissing him forcefully, and he ran his other hand up Sam’s back.

Sam forgot about the people around them as the kiss deepened, fervent and possessive. Their teeth clashed together for the first time and Rafe made a sound of complaint, so Sam tilted his head further to one side, using a hand against the back of Rafe’s neck to pull him even closer. The kiss was messy, and it tasted strongly of alcohol, but the little sounds that Rafe was making had begun to drive Sam wild.

Feeling blindly with one hand, Sam lifted up one of Rafe’s legs - it was the good one, his mind supplied, not the one with the brace - and urged it up and around Sam’s hip. Rafe obliged without even slowing the kiss, spreading his legs so that when Sam moved, their pelvises ground against each other with some much-needed friction. Sam heard the breath hitch in Rafe’s throat and felt a surge of delight when his hands immediately moved to Sam’s ass, encouraging Sam to slide at a particular pace. 

Sam’s blood had all rushed south from the ministrations, and an erection was straining uncomfortably against his jeans. Even through the two layers of denim, Sam could tell that Rafe was the same, and he reached down to unbutton himself - just enough that his erection was freed from the denim but still covered by his underwear. The fabric felt damp to the touch, and Sam was a little embarrassed at himself - had it really been that long? From the way he was going, he’d be coming in his pants before the song ended. 

The denim of Rafe’s pants created a pleasant friction by itself, but the man underneath him was making beautiful sounds that were driving Sam crazy, so he reached down unzip Rafe’s pants and give him some release. Rafe was as straining as much as he was, and Sam slipped his hand between the zip to cup him over his underwear. 

Sam barely noticed when Rafe broke their kiss, too busy exploring with his hand on Rafe. He did notice, however, when Rafe took hold of the hand that Sam had in his pants and gently pulled it free.

“Not here… Sam…” Rafe’s voice came out between heavy pants, and when Sam sat up, his head swum. Underneath him, Rafe was flushed and aroused, but Sam still separated their bodies, hovering above him.

“Do you want to stop?” Sam’s voice was hoarse, and he had to clear his throat. Rafe shook his head and the relief washed over Sam: he would have stopped the minute Rafe told him to, but he was glad the man wasn’t finished yet either.

“Not here,” Rafe repeated, his words stronger now that he’d had time to get his breath back, “There are people.” Sam looked around, relaxing his body so that he lay protectively on top of Rafe. The party was winding down to its very end, and most had scattered around the room to do similar things to what he and Rafe had been doing seconds before. No one was watching, and Sam didn’t feel particularly uncomfortable by the setting. The couch was soft and big enough for the two of them, and their bodies would cover up most of what they were doing with their hands anyway.

“They’re not watching us,” Sam said, “Are you sure you want to do this at all?” Rafe’s mouth formed a stern line.

“I want to, but I want a bed,” He said in a low voice, “I’m not going to get fucked on a dirty couch.” Oh, so that was on the cards. Sam’s dick twinged at the thought. He would find them a bed and an empty room if it killed him. 

“Alright, give me a minute and I’ll find us a bed,” Sam got to his feet, “Just don’t lose, this.” He gestured to the hard erection just poking out from Rafe’s jeans, and Rafe smirked.

“You worry about the bed.”

Sam hadn’t realized how intoxicated he was until he had to stumble across the room. Rafe was lucky he could stay reclining on the couch; in fact, the man would probably demand he be carried to the bed so that he wouldn’t fall over. The thought made Sam smile, and he forced himself to hurry.

The hallway to the bedrooms was dimly lit by the light of the main room, and Sam realized that his bedroom wouldn’t do - it wasn’t private enough. He managed to drag himself along the wall towards the end of the hall, and nearly crashed into a woman sitting on the floor. When she looked up questioningly, Sam recognized her: they’d shared a cigarette on the balcony one night, he thought. He couldn’t remember her name.

“Do you know somewhere private?” He asked, stumbling over his words. He had to find somewhere for him and Rafe before the night was over. The woman on the floor nodded and uncurled herself off the floor. 

“I’ve got somewhere in mind,” She gave a small smile, pulling him by the hand past the bedrooms. There were a few rooms towards the back that Sam hadn’t been in, and he considered now that they must be private rooms for the richer workers who didn’t want to sleep in bunks. If one were unoccupied, it would be perfect.

The woman unlocked a door and pulled them inside, turning on the light by pulling a cord hanging from the ceiling. The first thing Sam noticed was that they were in a janitor’s closet - not exactly what he’d had in mind to woo Rafe in. The second thing Sam noticed was the woman’s lips when she launched herself at him.

Sam’s mind was sluggish with alcohol, and he’d barely registered that she was kissing him until she was starting to pull down his jeans. By the time he managed to wrench his mouth away, she had already freed his erection, holding it in her hand as she kissed his neck.

“Jesus, lady, what are you doing?” Sam demanded, trying to take a step back but not having enough room in the small space. His back was already up against the door. “I’ve got a guy waiting to have sex with me right out there!” She smiled knowingly.

“You’re leaking,” She said, her thumb gently passing over him, “You won’t last very long.” Sam leaned back, resting his head against the wood.

“Not if you keep doing that,” He gasped, feeling too sensitive to the touch. He had to get back to Rafe, but her hand felt so good - Rafe hadn’t touched him like that while they’d been on the couch. Maybe, he wasn’t planning even to touch him at all - perhaps sending him to look for a bedroom was an opportunity for Rafe to sober up and leave.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Sam hadn’t noticed that he was bucking his hips into her hand until he looked down. “Let me get you ready for your boy outside.” The thought passed through Sam’s mind slowly: he was already far too horny to start from scratch, and he wanted Rafe to fall apart underneath him: he couldn’t do that if he came first.

The woman dropped to her knees before he had finished the thought, and when she took him deep in her mouth - bobbing up and down as if she had somewhere else to be - the words caught in his throat. He would be back out for Rafe in a minute.

Rafe knew when people were staring at him. He was used to the attention: back at home people would stare openly at his expensive clothes as he walked past them on the street. He wasn’t used to this attention though, sitting half-upright on a dirty couch with his jeans crudely pulled open. Sam had told him not to move and he’d obeyed, but now his underwear felt cold and sticky, and he was sobering up awfully fast. 

Where the hell was he? Rafe felt his anger flare up. The last time he’d offered someone sex, there had been no delay. Was it because he’d told Sam he needed a bed? He hadn’t thought it unreasonable at the time. Sure, a little touching was okay on the couch, but just imagine how many people had hooked up here before them.

He was getting cold, so Rafe struggled to pull up his pants, jamming the button closed over his erection. It was starting to stop throbbing, but he knew it would only take a second of Sam’s attention before it’d be back where it had been before. 

Rafe was too busy with his pants to notice the man until he was standing right in front of him, and Rafe gave a startled shout when he looked up. The man who’d approached him had hair styled similar to his, slicked back but a lighter shade of brown, with little pieces coming free. He was wearing a v-neck shirt and one of those dumb corded necklaces that people got when they were on vacation. He didn’t look drunk.

“I don’t like getting involved, mate,” The man started, “But are you here with Sam?” 

Suddenly self-conscious, Rafe wished he wasn’t straining so obviously against his jeans. He managed to nod. The man winced.

“He’s ah, jeez, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but someone just found him getting a blow in there.” He gestured behind him, being purposefully unspecific - possibly saving a friend from getting chased down by an angry date. The man didn’t have to worry, Rafe could only sit on the edge of the couch, frozen.

Rafe didn’t understand. Sam said he didn’t know any of the other workers - maybe this man had gotten the wrong guy? He wouldn’t have used Sam’s name, Rafe reminded himself. He was starting to feel sick, the emotions churning up in his stomach until he felt ready to vomit.

“I’ve got to go,” He said, repeating himself when the other man didn’t reply the first time, “I’ve got to go home.”

He started stumbling to the door, and the other man had to chase after him, pawing at his arm. “Which lodge did you come from?”

Rafe must have said something, because the man’s voice raised in pitch, getting more anxious.

“You can’t walk that far, mate, it’s snowing a gale out there! Aw hell, why are you limping?” His words bounced off Rafe’s back, not fully reaching him. He needed to get away from this party, this lodge, Sam having sex with someone that wasn’t him. He had been going to find a bedroom for them - you should have gone with him.

People were looking at him, and he realized that the music had stopped. A party always ended with some kind of drama, he thought painfully. He could hear their thoughts loud and clear as he stumbled past them: ‘Didn’t Sam bring you?’

He hit the door frame roughly and nearly fell into the drying room. A hand caught him by the back of the shirt before he could lose his balance: it was the man again. 

“Easy, take a breath for a minute.” Rafe could only manage a gasp. “I can get us a Ski-Doo, mate; I’ll take you up there.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I left the last chapter for two weeks at such a suspenseful point! Life has been kicking my ass. I haven't felt very motivated to write, but I knew that I wanted to get this out as quickly as I could for all the people waiting for an update. Hopefully it was worth the wait!

Sam regained consciousness on the floor of a utility closet with his jeans and underwear bunched around his knees. It took a few minutes for him to recognize the room around him, and another few minutes until the world stopped spinning. He could feel stagnant alcohol sitting in his stomach and, sitting up, it churned violently to make its presence known. Luckily there was a bucket for mops upturned on the floor because it wasn’t long before he was vomiting into it. Sam hadn’t felt so pathetic in years, since before he’d gotten his life together at least. It hurt to think too deeply, but he strained to remember what had happened the night before - most of the evening was a blur of music and the sense that time had somehow passed since then.

He could remember a lot of drinking and dancing, and a night that had started off enjoyable. Somehow it had turned sour, and that’s about where Sam’s memory got distorted. He thought there might have been a woman, but the memory was distant, and the only thing he could recall was looking for an empty room for Rafe. Ah. 

With a suddenly clarity, Sam could recall all of his bad decisions from last night in Technicolor detail. He’d drunk far too much and left Rafe for a woman who had sucked him off in this very closet. Sam couldn’t say what had happened afterwards: he must have actually lost consciousness at that point. He could only pray that he hadn’t woken up sometime during the night to do more things that he'd regret this morning.

Sam forced himself to his knees, trying to stomach the retching feeling that attempted to climb up his throat. He used the shelves to pull himself up - holding tightly to them when the world rotated 90 degrees - and clutched the bucket to his chest like a safety blanket. 

The few steps into the hallway felt like a mile, but Sam managed to stumble out of the cupboard and slither miserably along the wall. He felt utterly sorry for himself but also ashamed that he could even entertain the feeling when it was his own bad decisions that had led him there. 

It seemed obvious that Rafe wouldn’t still have been sitting there waiting for him, but the empty couch still took the air out of his lungs. Rafe had gone, and Sam wondered whether it was for good this time. Had he found out what Sam had done last night, or just gotten sick of waiting? The thought of Rafe freezing and lost out in the darkness gripped Sam’s chest like a vice, and suddenly he found it hard to breathe. He braced himself with his hands on the edge of the couch, sticking his face into his bucket as his breathing came out tight and panicked. Although this wasn’t the first morning he’d had regrets, the other occasions he remembered certainly hadn’t felt like this. 

A hand on his shoulder suddenly startled him, and Sam pulled his head out of the bucket to see a glass of water thrust into view. He turned his head slowly, feeling the stiffness in his neck protest at the rotation, and saw that it was the woman from last night.

“Drink this.” Her voice was kind, but Sam didn't feel any comfort. He couldn't remember what she'd been wearing the night before but now she wore a red thermal top, and her dark hair was pulled up. Sober, Sam realized that he knew her name: Chloe. She was one of the children’s snowboard instructors, but she’d been little more than a familiar face on the mountain. Until now, Sam thought dryly. 

Chloe was holding the glass of water out to him expectantly, and in her other hand she held out a packet of pills. Desperate to relieve some of the pressure in his head, Sam took both with only a thankful glance in her direction: he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. 

“Sam, right?” She said, waiting until Sam had swallowed a couple of pain pills before asking the question. They left a sour taste in his mouth, but it wasn’t much worse than the taste of stale alcohol if he was honest with himself. Sam shrugged in answer, not wanting to engage her further. To his disappointment, Chloe sat down without prompting, perching beside him with her legs tucked underneath her.

“So we’re just pretending that last night never happened, then?” She asked, giving Sam an inquisitive raise of an eyebrow. There was no regret or disappointment in her eyes, and Sam had to wonder whether Chloe charmed men in utility closets on a regular basis. 

“Did we have sex?” It was all Sam could think of to say if she was going to hound him, and all he wanted to know. The more he could piece together from the night before, the better he could make his apology to Rafe, though whether Rafe would want him after the party was an entirely different story. 

Chloe didn’t seem startled by the question, but she didn’t keep him in unnecessary suspense. A quick shake of her head gave Sam a huge sense of relief.

“You passed out pretty much as soon as you came.” So he hadn’t imagined the blow job, then. It was a small consolation that they hadn't had sex, but Sam had to celebrate small victories after the bad decisions he'd made. The revelation only left one other question to ask, though. 

“Rafe - the guy I came to the party with - do you know where he went after I passed out?” Chloe thought for a moment, her gaze averted away from him as if replaying some memory in her head.

“When I came out here, the music had stopped, and there was a big drama going on by the door. Your boy was near inconsolable - I think he'd heard - and one of the other employees, Harry, was agreeing to take him home. They left together, and I didn’t see them after that.”

Sam couldn’t help but feel a weight off his shoulders with the knowledge that someone had made sure Rafe had gotten home safely. The deep regret that he hadn't been the one to do it immediately followed. He tried to picture Harry in his head to put a face to the name and eventually, he managed to conjure up an image. They'd exchanged small talk over dinner a few times, and Sam had given Harry his crate of beer when he realized he didn't want to drink any of it. So much for his temporary sobriety. Harry had been a nice guy - a Brit - and Sam could take solace in the fact that at least he would have taken care of Rafe. 

If Rafe had gone back to his lodge last night, the only thing for Sam to do now was to go up there and apologize. Rafe was probably sulking - Sam couldn’t blame him - and it would be a significant effort to win him over again. This time, though, Sam knew he’d have to talk about his past: the past that had been sitting close enough to the surface to rear its head last night. He could only hope that it would be enough.

“Good luck,” Chloe said as Sam hurried back into his room. Not wanting to turn up on Rafe’s doorstep looking like a pathetic, hungover mess, Sam found a clean change of clothes and stood under a boiling shower until it felt like all of his skin had peeled off. By the time he’d dried himself off and returned a now-clean bucket to the cupboard, he nearly felt like himself again. Certainly well enough to make the trek up the mountain.

Sam rehearsed his apology speech the entire trip up, fumbling over the words the first few times but growing in strength as he neared the top. He didn’t think he’d told anyone about his past - Nathan was possibly the only one who even knew - and it was harder than he’d anticipated putting it into words. He knew that he had to tell Rafe everything, from the beginning of his rough past to the way falling into bed had become a type of self-medication. He also knew that he was likely to stuff it up when he came to actually saying the words. Sam could only hope that Rafe would see through the blunders.

When he finally arrived on the doorstep, Sam noticed that the Adler lodge had been covered in snow overnight, and there were no fresh tracks outside. He was glad Rafe hadn’t left, then, though he worried how angered the man would be by his appearance. But if he could say his part, surely Rafe would be able to forgive him?

Sam readied his hand to knock at the door - it was a Saturday and Rafe wouldn’t have his door unlocked to expect visitors - but some movement out of the corner of the eye stopped him from completing the action. It had come from inside the house, visible through the large windows beside the front door that faced straight into the living room beyond the fireplace. Curious, Sam slipped out of sight against the wall and peered into the closest window. 

It took him a while to decipher the situation - something that Sam blamed on the hangover - but his blood ran cold when his mind caught up with his sight. Rafe was on the couch, the long one a little way from the fire, but he wasn’t alone. Rafe was lying on his front, and a man was on top of him - it was Harry, Sam’s brain supplied. 

For a second, the shock was so fierce that Sam felt glued to the sight, unable to look away until it destroyed him. He didn’t want to look, but it almost seemed like there wasn’t another option, as if it was his punishment to bear witness. From his vantage point, Sam could see a blanket draped over them, shielding his gaze from the most explicit view as Harry fucked Rafe. Unfortunately, it was not doing enough.

He couldn’t look at Harry, so he leveled his gaze at Rafe instead, watching how the man clung tightly to the couch with his forehead pressed into the cushions. Rafe’s face was partly obscured, and Sam tried to imagine that Rafe looked unhappy - wished it was him instead - and that’s why they weren’t facing each other. But then Harry dove his hands under the blanket to rearrange them, pulling Rafe’s body so his ass was in the air and Harry could hold his hips. Rafe turned his head and made a comment that Sam couldn’t decipher, but he couldn’t deny the cheeky grin and flushed face. 

Sam turned away before he could see any more, glad that the sounds they were making were completely silent on his side of the glass. Had Rafe looked like that when they’d kissed? He didn’t think so. Sam leaned heavily against the outside wall, unable to think of anything except what was happening inside. It felt like the ground had opened him up and swallowed him whole, and now he was struggling to crawl through the darkness. 

How could Rafe lie on that same couch, letting himself be fucked by someone else exactly where he’d been kissing Sam only the night before? He wanted to bang on the front door, demanding an explanation of whether Rafe had ever cared for him at all. But deep down, Sam knew that he deserved this penance for the way he had acted. He’d foolishly expected Rafe to be patiently waiting for him to sober up and apologize, but while he’d been lying comatose in a closet someone else had moved in, treating Rafe right and not hesitating when the time came.

Sam didn’t knock on the door. Instead, he turned and made his way back down the mountain, not sure if he could bear to hear how the story ended. As he tried to pull a cigarette out of its packet - in disbelief that anything could dull the pain in his chest - Sam’s hands shook hard, and the pack slipped out of his hands, scattering the cigarettes across the snow. He didn’t bother picking them up - they were ruined.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, long time no see gang! Thanks for being patient with me - I know a few of you wanted to know whether I was updating this anytime soon, so I hope this excites you! When I posted the last chapter I thought that I couldn't get any busier, but I was proved horribly wrong and for the past month I have not done a speck of writing. I missed this fic immensely so today when I had a free few hours I decided to get a chapter out. Luckily, I'm handing in my final assignments this week, so apart from a few exams I'll be nice and free and hopefully will not take another month to write the next chapter. 
> 
> In other news, hopefully you all enjoy this! It's been a while, but I hope it feels like you're coming back to an old friend, because that's certainly how it felt to me! When I first drafted this chapter, I thought it was average, but now I think it's one of my favourites. Hopefully you enjoy it!

Sam arrived back at the lodge, climbed into bed, and slept the rest of the day away. He was miserable, hung-over, and out of cigarettes. His mind seemed to be stuck on a loop replaying what he’d seen that morning, and it seemed to permeate his dreams as much as it did his waking thoughts. A few times he woke up to an empty room around him, but the next time the adjacent beds were filled with his snoring roommates, and the time after that Sunday’s morning rays were shining straight into his eyes.

A buzz from his phone alerted him to a text message, and Nathan’s name flashed urgently on the screen. “Haven’t heard from you - how is Colorado?” it asked, and bitterly, Sam deleted the message. He didn’t know what to say.

He lay awake until the room had completely cleared out, and only then did he brave the empty shower cubicles and deserted kitchen. The pounding in his head from the day before had gone, but the steam did nothing for the feeling that had now settled in his stomach. Sam managed to eat a few slices of stale bread - plain - before collecting his ski gear from the drying room. 

The mountain was buzzing with activity, and the anonymity of jumping on the chairlift next to a stranger helped ease his emotions. Out here on the mountain, Sam could disappear into the crowd and become someone else. It would help him forget all about Rafe and Harry, he decided, if he flew down the mountain as fast as he could. 

Sam got pulled aside by a worker he thought he recognized, for skiing too fast in a beginners area. Looking around took him by surprise - just a second ago, he’d been at the top of the highest lift. The guy with his hand on Sam’s shoulder gave him an odd look, and Sam didn’t bother re-joining the queue. 

Not unexpectedly, he was the first one back to the lodge, but Sam appreciated the continued solitude. He busied himself with rekindling the fireplace and collecting the beer cans that had rolled under the furniture - cans that were just as likely from last season as from last night. By the time the lodge tables looked clean enough to eat from again, he was beginning to feel somewhat like himself. He wasn’t a horny teenager drunk on love - he’d messed up with a guy and now he either fixed his mistake or moved on. Moping wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

The wind picked up in the afternoon, and the closure of the lifts brought most of the residents back to the lodge early. A vivacious British accent complaining about the bad weather caught Sam’s attention, and he looked up to see Harry for the first time since his voyeuristic view through Rafe’s window. Unaware of the turmoil he’d caused Sam over the past day, Harry sent a wide grin in his direction.

“Sick of the snow already, mate?” 

Sam shrugged, forcing himself to meet Harry’s gaze head-on. He looked amicable enough - the kind of guy that would attract anyone that he laid his attention on. Hell, a few years ago he probably would have gone there himself. The sour memory of seeing him fucking Rafe from behind tried to resurface, but Sam shoved it back down where it belonged - it wasn’t Harry’s fault that he was feeling this way. It was quite possible he hadn’t known about Sam at all: he doubted Rafe would have mentioned it before they’d torn each other’s clothes off.

“Gotta have some variety in your day,” Sam replied, gesturing to the spotless room they were conversing in. Harry gave it a brief glance before heading to the kitchen. He returned with two beers - Sam declined the one he attempted to thrust in his direction - and perched at the end of the couch that Sam was sitting on.

“I’m glad I caught you, actually,” Harry began, alternating sips from each can, “I need a favor.” Sam didn’t think Harry had done anything that warranted being owed a favor, but he nodded anyway.

“See, I agreed to work this gala dinner tonight - free booze all night long, Sammy - but I can’t help out anymore and I’m going to get in a whole heap of trouble if I back out now. It’s real easy, promise, you just have to wash some dishes and serve some wine. What do you say?”

Agreeing made Sam feel like an absolute chump, but the proposition wasn’t actually that unpleasant. He probably even would have considered volunteering had he been asked in the first place. Harry was thrilled with his new freedom and darted off to his room as soon as he could, leaving Sam to find himself an appropriate outfit to wear. 

A few hours later, Sam was dressed up in a hired suit with a black apron tied around his waist, polishing a long line of skinny wine glasses. His stomach was pleasantly full of the leftover canapes that had been returned to the kitchen earlier, and a band in the corner was playing soft jazz that he hummed along too. For a day that had started so terribly, Sam felt remarkably light-hearted. 

“A sauvignon blanc, please,” a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts, and Sam looked up to see Rafe standing in front of him with a small smirk on his face. The shock of seeing Rafe there at all was exacerbated by his appearance: he was dressed to the nines in a sharp white suit jacket and slim black pants. He was wearing cuff-links, too - Sam didn’t even own cuff-links.

“Rafe? What are you doing here?” Sam gaped, his jaw slack. The fact Rafe was standing in front of him at all wasn’t a huge surprise - of course Rafe would attend a fancy gala dinner - but after the events of the party, Sam thought for sure that Rafe would take all precautions to keep out of his way. But yet here he was, looking at Sam as if they were old friends and asking for a drink. Rafe’s teeth were white as he grinned.

“You look like a bus boy,” He said, chuckling and flicking one of the clean glasses with his finger. Sensing that Rafe was in a good mood, Sam put his hands on his hips, faking an attitude.

“Not everyone can get into gala dinners on their own merits, Adler.” That made Rafe laugh even more, and Sam’s heart swelled at the sound. They were teasing again, back to their banter dance. It wouldn’t be tonight, but Sam wondered whether they could eventually go back to what they’d had: a little damaged maybe, but with potential nonetheless.

Rafe opened his mouth to reply, but a sound that Sam didn’t hear piqued his interest, and Rafe turned back to give him an apologetic look.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go sit down now, but maybe we can catch up later?” Sam didn’t have a chance to think, because already Rafe was spinning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd. As he watched his slight limp - the only thing ruining his majestic exit - Sam smiled. Maybe they’d be able to slip away and sit somewhere, and Sam could finally explain what he’d been wanting to tell him the day before. He was so thrilled that he didn’t even lose his grin when someone came to tell him that there was another set of plates ready to be washed. 

Another hour passed in the blink of an eye, elbow-deep in greasy water, and Sam started to worry that Rafe would actually be gone by the time he’d finished up here. Feigning a freak stomach pain, Sam excused himself to the bathroom, and he made sure to walk to the furthest mens room on the other side of the ballroom. Unfortunately, Rafe was nowhere to be found, and Sam’s whole excuse seemed to now be going to waste. Because he probably wouldn’t get another opportunity, he slipped into the bathroom anyway, and to his surprise found Rafe washing his hands at the sink.

“When I suggested we catch up later, I wasn’t expecting you to follow me into the restroom,” Rafe smirked when he caught sight of Sam in the mirror. Turning, he leaned against the sinks, watching Sam with slightly hooded eyes. He looked pleasantly more ruffled than when Sam had first seen him, as if a few glasses of wine had taken their toll on his appearance as well as his blood alcohol level.

“I didn’t think the chef was going to let me leave the kitchen unless I literally had piss running down my leg,” Sam offered with a grin. The men’s toilet wasn’t quite the candle-lit table he’d been imagining for his apology, but if this was the opportunity being presented to him, he wasn’t going to waste it. Collecting his thoughts, he readied himself to speak.

“Look, Rafe,” He began, but Rafe’s curious gaze was quickly distracted by the sound of somebody opening the bathroom door. The words died in Sam’s throat as he looked over his shoulder to see who had entered. Dressed in a suit that was a size too big for him, Harry crossed the room with an easy grin. Sam was stunned to see him there at all - somehow when Harry had spoken to him earlier, Sam had assumed that he was covering his shift so that he could go to a party or something at another lodge. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t bothered to ask. Sam supposed it hardly mattered. 

For a moment Sam thought Harry was heading for the urinal, and he turned to the side to give him more room, but instead Harry made his way straight to Rafe, enveloping him in both arms. From where he was standing, Sam could see Harry’s hands drop down to give Rafe’s ass a squeeze, and when Rafe raised his chin expectantly, Harry captured his mouth with a hungry grunt.

They parted with a sloppy pop that made Sam’s stomach twist, and he thought about going straight back to the kitchen without a word. But before he could make that decision, Rafe was looking at Sam again, gesturing to Harry whilst still trapped in his arms.

“Samuel, this is Harry - my date for the gala dinner. Harry, hon, you know Sam from the workers’ lodge, right? The one I told you about?” Rafe looked at Harry and the two of them shared a look, making Sam feel excluded from some secret joke made at his expense. Harry didn’t offer a hand for him to shake - too busy locked onto Rafe’s hips - and Sam’s stayed limp at his sides. 

Even with Harry there, he considered trying to veer the subject back on course again, hoping to give a weak apology so that he could stay out of Rafe and Harry’s way for the rest of the season. Of course they were an item now, how could he have assumed anything else? He had that kind of bad luck. 

Neither Rafe nor Harry seemed to sense his internal struggle, and when Sam tried to speak, Harry interrupted him.

“We should go back to our table, love, they’re just about to serve dessert.” Rafe nodded, looking surprised at the idea of time having passed, and let Harry link their arms and lead him out of the bathroom. 

“Sorry, Sam, we’ve got to go. It was nice seeing you, though,” Rafe said as they passed by the door. Sam croaked out a goodbye, but Harry was moving fast enough that Sam didn’t think he heard. 

Sam tried not to snap at the other employees in the kitchen when he returned to his dish-washing duty, but he let the humiliation swirl around in his head until it made him dizzy. He tried to be mad at either of them, but nothing stuck. It wasn’t Harry or Rafe’s fault that they’d decided to go as dates to this gala dinner, just as it wasn’t Harry’s fault that Sam had agreed to cover his ass. He and Rafe hadn’t been exclusive, and with certainty Sam could now say that anything they’d had before was now a platonic friendship at best. Though with Harry in the picture, Sam doubted Rafe would even be needing that anymore. Sam thought of the kisses they’d shared and shelved them away in his memory. Rafe had made his choice.

He didn’t see the couple after dessert - they were likely slow dancing with the rest of the attendees in the center of the room, but Sam didn’t try very hard to seek them out. Rafe would be probably be weaker with his sore knee, but Sam imagined he was still an excellent dancer and would scold Harry for stepping on his toes. When the final dish was washed and stacked and he was free to go, Sam disappeared to the balcony for a cigarette. 

The balcony he chose had a nice vantage point across the driveway, out of sight of the guests who were just beginning to leave. The nicotine soothed his weary body, washing over him with an artificial sense of calm. After a few minutes he braved looking over the edge at the men who helped women in pretty dresses and high-heeled shoes to waiting cars. The alcohol had really been flowing at the later stages of the party, and there was a lot of slipping on the ice accompanied by raucous laughter. Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the scene, particularly when some men decided that the appropriate action was to carry their dates over the snow - however shaky the trip might be.

Sam was still chuckling when one of the last couples came out in matching suits, and he wouldn’t have recognized them at all if Rafe hadn’t tilted his head and caught the moonlight on his face. He and Harry stood by the door, unwilling to traipse across the snow to their waiting car. They shared a few hushed words before Harry swooped down and swept Rafe off his feet, lifting him up in his arms like a blushing bride. Even from a floor below, Rafe’s laugh rang clear, and Sam turned away before he could see them kiss again. 

Sam told himself that he was glad Rafe was so happy. He repeated this mantra all the way back up the mountain, as the bottom of his pant legs began to get soaked by the dirty slush left on the road. He tried not to worry - they were only rented slacks, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here!

Without much of a fuss, the month of March came and went. Harry left the employee lodge with grand spectacle, informing everyone currently in residence that Rafe Adler had asked him to move in. Although the news tore at Sam’s heart, he managed to persuade himself that it was for the best that Harry was leaving. With neither of them nearby, maybe he could finally move on. 

Sam filled the hole in his chest with work: the mountain was steady with visitors and no matter the time of day, there was always something to do. Some of the other workers complained about having to take up shifts on their days off to keep up with the volume, but Sam found that suited him just fine. 

Although he tended not to have time to think during the day, the nights still felt long and threatened to slip into melancholy. There was no shortage of young companions in the lodge, but most of the workers - new graduates looking to be wild and carefree before they settled down into a 9-5 job - avoided him, deciding that they preferred someone who didn’t reek of heartbreak.

The one person who did stick around was Chloe, pulling up a chair beside him at dinner the day Harry left and never leaving. Sam didn’t care much at first about the stories of snowboarding lessons she shared with him, but after a few days, he found her openness refreshing. Chloe had been similarly affected by the events of that party - she didn’t want to be blackout drunk again - and rather than drink the night away, they spent the evenings talking on the doorstep instead.

There were no feelings involved between them - they had made that clear from the beginning - but even so, they found themselves falling into bed together on multiple occasions. Chloe had shelled out for a private room with a double bed and that alone was enough to have Sam knocking on her door; several months sleeping in a twelve-person dorm had stamped permanent bags under his eyes. They didn’t talk much during those evenings - he was looking for a distraction, and he didn't ask whether Chloe was using him purely for pleasure or whether she had other things that she too was trying to repress - but the sex was good and he could sleep without dreaming.

He was talking to Nathan again, too, now that his brother was back in America with Sully. Sam had told him the whole story on their first phone call after the gala dinner, but had kept all talk of Rafe and Harry out of their conversations since then. Nathan began to refer to Chloe as his girlfriend, and Sam didn’t bother correcting him. He couldn’t tell his brother the truth: that exclusivity and labels were really as far from their minds as they could be. He didn’t want to disappoint Nathan: his baby brother who was in his third year of an on-again-off-again relationship - currently on again - struggling with commitment because Sam’s lousy example was all he’d ever known. 

It wasn’t until the calendar stuck on the wall of the lodge was only a week away from the big red ‘X’ that marked the end of the season that Sam realized it was nearly time to return home. He couldn’t wait to see Nathan and even found himself missing Victor, which was a much rarer occurrence. The mountain had become a cold and lonely place now, and Sam craved a return to his makeshift family and the place they called home. 

For once free from any jobs - even the voluntary ones - Sam decided to dust off his gear and get back on the snow. He’d steered clear of his skis for several weeks now, too glum and unmotivated to bother, but with the end in sight, Sam was reminded of the expense of lift passes and the increasingly likely chance that they would not be back for a few years. Who knew where his travels with Nathan would take them next winter.

He didn’t bother going to the top of the lift and instead cut across the mountain, reaching a terrain park that was full of ramps and rails set up for the most proficient skiers and boarders. There was less of a queue here, and the people who ended up here tended to be better conversationalists, happy to share stories about their sport. Sam watched a few take on a particular ramp before jumping it himself, thrilled by the adrenaline of being launched high into the air. His knees reminded him not to do that again as he landed, but Sam couldn’t help but give a giddy laugh as he rejoined the queue. This feeling was why he was on the mountain at all. 

The group ahead of him gave a thumbs up for the jump, and he was just about to ask them where they were from when a small bump on his back caused Sam to turn around automatically. 

“Easy there,” He said, grabbing the person by the arm of their black jacket until they could find their balance, “Sometimes standing still is harder than the skiing itself.” Turning back around to move ahead in the queue, Sam didn’t notice the skier pulling off their balaclava.

“Samuel?”

The voice was distinctive, and Sam immediately spun back without thinking. Rafe Adler stood behind him, holding the balaclava that had concealed his identity in both hands, his face pink from windchill. He looked just as surprised as Sam felt.

“Rafe? You’re back on skis,” Sam said, unable to find any more words. Rafe looked steady on his feet, and there was no indication that he’d been unable to walk on his knee several months ago.

“I stopped wearing the brace last week - hoped I could get in a few days before I went home,” Rafe said sheepishly, gesturing to the mountain around them. Sam noticed that he hadn’t changed: he was still trying to keep his hair in place with expensive gel that stood no chance against the elements. 

Someone politely cleared their throat behind Rafe, and Sam looked ahead to see empty space all the way to the chairlift. Before he could move ahead, Rafe spoke. 

“Were you planning to go up again? We could grab a hot drink at the cafe.” The thought of saying no didn’t even cross Sam’s mind, even though there were multiple reasons that he should have. Instead, he found himself nodding and lifting the rope cordon to allow them an abrupt exit from the line. 

“A hot drink sounds good - I’m freezing.”

Making eye contact as they unclipped their skis from their bindings, Sam couldn’t decipher the wide-eyed look on Rafe’s face. They carried their skis over their shoulder in silence, trekking to the nearest cafe and lining their gear up together by the door. In fact, neither of them spoke more than a few words until they had sat down in a quiet booth. Even with the heat beginning to thaw him out, Sam’s jaw still felt too frozen to speak. 

“You look well,” Rafe spoke first, suddenly startled by the woman who came and placed their steaming drinks in front of them. Sam sipped his slowly: an excuse to not reply instantly. What could he say? That he’d rotted for the past month, trying to pretend that he didn’t care Rafe was sleeping with someone else? It suddenly felt wrong to be there at all, and Sam wondered if he was going to have Harry beating down his door tomorrow morning. He slid away from the table, ready to make an excuse to give him reason to leave. 

“We broke up.” Rafe’s words sounded pained, and Sam looked up to see the hurt look in Rafe’s eyes. Slowly, Sam settled back against the ripped seating and took a sip of his drink. 

“Oh,” He said, hoping Rafe would say more but not wanting to press him. Rafe wrung his hands together.

“We wanted different things.” Judging by the finality of his tone, Sam sensed that this was all he was going to receive about Rafe and Harry’s breakup. Rafe looked much more somber than he had before, with no twinkle in his eye, and suddenly Sam felt sympathetic. As hurt as he’d been by the relationship in the first place, he could imagine Harry’s departure leaving a much darker mark on the younger man. Too busy thinking, Sam didn’t reply, and Rafe seemed to take this as disinterest. He shuffled in his seat, embarrassed.

“I guess I should go now. I’m sorry, Sam, I don’t know why I asked you here.” Standing up with his eyes drawn to the floor, Rafe excused himself, pulling out his wallet to pay. Sam watched this like the view through a thick window, seeing Rafe about to walk out of his life for good. He thought of Nathan.

“Wait, Rafe,” Sam started, and Rafe stopped hesitantly, “I’ve just got something to say first.” Sitting down again slowly, Rafe perched on the edge of the seat as if ready to disappear. Taking a deep breath, Sam began to talk.

“My mom died when my brother and I were small, and our dad ditched us pretty quickly. There were orphanages and foster parents after that and then when I got older, I tried to work to support Nathan and I so we didn’t have to live in those places anymore. I ended up… becoming so focused on looking after him that I forgot to look after myself.” Pausing for a moment - the memories still felt so fresh - Sam glanced at Rafe. He was frozen in place, holding the edge of the table with white hands. 

“Because of that, I wasn’t in a good place back then. I persuaded myself that no one was ever going to love me. My dad certainly hadn’t, and the system didn’t treat me much better. When I got old enough to buy a fake ID, I suddenly found this whole new world that opened up to me. Attention was what every seventeen-year-old street kid wanted, after all, and after a few drinks, suddenly everyone in the place loved me! I was mistaking lust for love back then, of course. I couldn’t tell the difference.”

Sam expected to look up and find Rafe fidgeting in his seat, wishing he were anywhere but listening to Sam’s sob story, but instead the man was perfectly still, listening intently and not looking away from Sam for a second. Urged on by his reaction, Sam continued.

“I self-medicated myself with sex back then, but once Nathan started getting older and tried to follow my path, I promised to leave that life behind. Got on the straight and narrow for him, I guess. But when I was at that party with you, I was looking for a bed and Chloe was there and I just-” Sam stopped abruptly, rubbing his hands vigorously against his face. “I understand why you left, that’s all. And I’m sorry I couldn’t have been better for you.”

Sam waited for the inevitable: the cold, aloof Rafe who would tell him where to stick his pity party and to man up to his bad decisions. It had taken him months, but he had finally told him what he’d wanted to say all along, and if Rafe turned around now and never looked back, at least Sam had said what he needed to.

But those words never came. After a few seconds of silence, Sam sought out Rafe’s gaze and was surprised to see nothing like the disgust he had expected. Rafe’s expression was thoughtful, and after a few seconds, he pushed his mug gently around with one finger, eventually stopping when it clinked against Sam’s.

“Harry broke up with me - said he knew I was still thinking about someone else.” Rafe looked up, and their eyes met again, stealing any words from Sam’s mouth. He didn’t know how to interpret Rafe’s reply: he was surprised Rafe had taken his story in his stride without need for anger or argument. His next words came out of his mouth without prompting. 

“Can I take you on a date? Tonight?” Rafe looked startled, and so did Sam for that matter. What sort of man asked someone on a date after a conversation like the one they’d been having? He felt like an idiot, but considering he’d already started down the path of a train wreck, he thought he’d better finish it. 

“If it doesn’t go well, that’s it. I won’t bother you again. Just one last try, for old time’s sake? You still owe me for crashing into me the day we met.” Unexpectedly, Rafe started to laugh, and Sam didn’t know what to think. Was the idea so ridiculous? He knew he’d been silly to try. Readying himself to depart with cafe with as much dignity as possible, he nearly missed Rafe’s reply entirely. It was a good thing that he didn’t.

“I’ll go on a date with you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for bearing with me! This chapter is where it starts (spoiler) getting explicit, so don't read this chapter if that's not for you!

At a little before 4 pm, Sam waited nervously at the bottom of the chairlift, hoping that Rafe would show up. It had been a few hours since their conversation in the cafe, and although he’d agreed to the date itself, Rafe hadn’t looked too impressed at Sam’s request for him to meet him back on the snow later. It wasn’t a fancy dinner date like Rafe might have been used to, which meant it was a risk, but Sam hoped that this one would pay off. Strapped to his back, the two bottles of beer he’d packed felt heavy in his bag.

Not a second late, Sam caught sight of Rafe in the distance, trudging with his skis held over one shoulder. As he got closer Sam could see a sceptical look on his face, but that didn’t matter. He had turned up.

“Lifts close at 4, Samuel,” Rafe said when they were close enough to hear one another, “I didn’t think you’d be tired out that quickly.” 

Sam smirked.

“I could go all night baby.” He gestured to the empty chairlift queue.

“Last lift up,” the supervisor said to them as he pulled the safety bar over their legs, “You two stay safe up there.” The chair had already started moving, but Rafe still turned his head to look back at him. Already too far away to ask, Rafe turned to Sam.

“Last lift?” He looked confused.

“This is the budget way to end a day on the snow,” He explained, swinging his feet so that the chairlift swung gently, “You take the last chair up the mountain - all the way to the top. Then you wait up there for a while, enjoying the sunset and waiting for everyone else to clear off the mountain. By the time you ski down, it’s an empty run.” Sam grinned when he’d finished, still a little nervous that it wasn’t going to excite Rafe at all. Rafe gave a meek smile.

“Alright,” He replied, and he leaned his head gently against Sam’s shoulder without another word. Too nervous to brave wrapping an arm around him, Sam kept still, and they spent the rest of the ride in silence. He wondered again whether this had been the right choice, but the fast beating of his heart drowned out all of his hesitant thoughts.

The sky was just beginning to turn orange as the chairlift reached the highest point, and when they disembarked, the clearing was empty. Sam figured that the guy at the bottom had already sent word for the employee up here to start heading down, picking up any stragglers on the way.

Sam trudged his way over to a bank of snow and stood his skis up straight, sitting down beside them. Rafe did the same, rubbing his hands together and blowing out a puff of warm air.

“So we just sit here?” Rafe asked, sounding suspicious. Sam reached into his bag and brought out the two bottles of beer.

“We drink too,” He said, handing one of the bottles to Rafe. Rafe’s frown deepened.

“You didn’t think to bring hot drinks instead?” Sam grinned - beer was the tradition. He did think Rafe would stop complaining if he was warmer though, so he unzipped his jacket and pulled it open, raising his eyebrow at Rafe in invitation.

“You’ll warm up,” He said. He didn’t really expect Rafe to accept the offer, but after a second the man crawled over and tried to fit himself against Sam’s side. It was impossible to zip up his jacket with Rafe in that position, so after a few moments of shuffling, Sam opened his legs instead and encouraged Rafe to sit between them with his back against Sam’s chest. Wrapping Rafe up tightly with both sides of his jacket, they finally had the opportunity to delve into silence and look out across the mountain.

“It’s nice up here,” Rafe said after a while, freeing his hands to open his bottle of beer. Sam did the same, making sure to keep one arm snuggly wrapped around Rafe’s middle - he didn’t think Rafe would let this happen again if he let go. 

“Snow, beer, and a cute guy in my arms,” Sam said with a laugh. He thought he felt Rafe stiffen but before Sam could pull away, Rafe settled again and relaxed further into Sam. The beer tasted good, still cold even with the trip in Sam’s backpack, and he felt a gentle buzz rush through his body. Liquid courage, Sam thought. Leaning forward, he put his face closer to Rafe’s ear.

“Would you complain if I kissed you right now?” It was still for a moment, just enough time for Sam to begin to have regrets. Was he reading the situation completely wrong?

“I would complain if you didn’t," Rafe said, his head pointed away from Sam out across the mountain. For a moment Sam wondered whether he’d misheard him. But then Rafe was turning at the waist, just enough that their torsos were facing each other. Sam began to wish that he hadn’t asked for permission and just done it spontaneously because now Rafe was staring at him with an expectant look on his face. Even though it wasn’t their first kiss by any means, it certainly felt as awkward as one. 

Worrying that waiting too long would psyche him out completely, Sam reached up to take Rafe’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressed their mouths together. Rafe felt the same as Sam remembered, but somehow there wasn’t a spark anymore. The kiss was short - abrupt even - and when they parted Sam didn’t think Rafe wanted to kiss again. 

After the kiss, Rafe turned back around, edging away a little bit so that they weren’t as close as they’d been before. The sun was starting to near the horizon, and soon they’d be heading down the mountain towards the end of the date. It wasn't the best date Sam had been on - and it definitely wasn't the same passion as when they'd first met - but Rafe hadn’t skied off without him yet, and that at least seemed to be a good sign.

Eventually, the silence began to feel stretched and with the light quickly fading, Sam cleared his throat and made a move to sit up straight.

“We should start heading down before it gets too dark.” Sam picked up the empty beer bottles from the snow and placed them gently into his bag, while Rafe climbed to his feet and began to put on his skis. 

“Aw, do you need a nap?” Rafe’s voice was teasing, and Sam laughed, relieved.

“I’m going to waste your ass, Rafe - you know that, right?” With a mischievous grin, Rafe pushed off with his pole, leaving Sam still getting his skis on. 

Leaving Sam’s complaining behind him, Rafe started off in the lead, but he enjoyed skiing elegantly with big swoops and curves to keep his pace even. This meant that it wasn’t long before Sam, who preferred going as fast as humanly possible, quickly overtook him. Sam also immediately fell into a snowdrift on the next big corner.

“Keep up, old man!” Rafe teased as he slowed down beside Sam, waiting to make sure that he got up without injury before continuing on in the lead. Grumbling at the nickname, Sam quickly caught up again, mimicking Rafe’s ski style so that he could get close enough to poke him with one of his poles. Rolling his eyes, Rafe veered away and separated them so that Sam’s pole couldn’t reach him anymore. With his game finished, Sam pointed his skis straight down the mountain.

“Who’s the slowpoke now?” He called out as he left Rafe in his wake. They continued racing to the bottom, trying to sabotage each other and exchanging banter at every corner. Too soon Sam saw the end of the run approaching, and he started to slow down. Rafe had been quiet for a while, skiing not far behind him, but right as Sam was coming to a halt, he felt something hit him from behind, and suddenly he was face-first in the snow.

Sam sat up, spitting out a mouthful of slush. Beside him, still a little tangled, Rafe was beaming and kicking the skis off his boots.

“Here’s me thinking we were just about even for the first time, and you go and crash into me again!” Sam unlocked the bindings on his skis and let them slide away, flopping back onto the snow a little short of breath. Rafe rolled over, putting his hands on Sam’s chest.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” He said, and this time when Rafe pressed their lips together, it did feel like old times. Not wanting Rafe to pull away, Sam rolled them over so that Rafe was nestled under him in the snow, and he kissed him as if he’d never get another opportunity. Rafe made a sound in the back of his throat, having not expected Sam’s forcefulness, but he reciprocated the kiss with just as much energy of his own.

Feeling suddenly impatient to touch skin, Sam tried to slip his hands under Rafe’s jacket, but the ski gear felt never-ending, and it felt a bit like he was making out with a pile of wet laundry. This would have been much more convenient had they waited until they’d gotten inside. 

An awkward cough sounded above them, and Sam and Rafe separated in a flash. Someone in a high-visibility vest was standing there looking as if he would rather be anywhere else at this moment. Sam was ready to apologize profusely, but when the figure took off their scarf, Sam instantly recognized him as a work mate. Sam had never seen him looking so exasperated.

“Sam, please, anywhere but here bro! I gotta stand here and wait for the mountain to clear.” Rolling off onto the snow, Rafe sat up, and Sam felt something hit his chest. He looked down to see that they were keys.

“I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t do it here.” The man quickly turned away, heading over to the other edge of his patrol area before Sam could say anything. He looked down at the keys and noted the label. 

“There’s a shed over there,” Sam said, gesturing with a nod. “It’s pretty small, but it’s got a big heater. I don’t know if you want to go and make out or something but…” Rafe smirked as Sam stumbled over his words.

“This is about as classy as I expected from you Samuel, but I am one degree away from being a popsicle, so I’d appreciate the heater.” Recognizing Rafe’s comment as a gentle jest and not an outright insult, Sam just smirked at him as they carried their skis and poles over to the shed. He’d been inside often during the season, and the lock came away easily. Together they stacked their gear along the outside wall and entered together. 

The room didn’t light up with more than a soft glow when Sam pulled the string hanging from the ceiling, but it was heavenly warm inside and Rafe immediately darted under the heater unit, holding his hands up close. Sam shut the door behind them, not wanting to let the hot air escape. The shed was small when empty, but the skis and snowboards packed into the room meant that Sam could barely spread his arms without touching snow gear on all sides. 

Already feeling stifling hot in his layers, Sam started to strip off his waterproof jacket, noticing that Rafe was already doing the same. Underneath Rafe was wearing a thermal top, but since he didn’t take it off, Sam kept his own on too.

“Is this classy enough for you?” Sam teased, hanging his outerwear on a hook and coming to stand beside Rafe. 

“We’ve trekked a fair bit of water in,” Rafe replied, pointing to the puddles of snow that had melted on the concrete floor.

“We won’t lie down then,” Sam said, starting to push some of the equipment aside so that he could clear a space on the wall. 

“It takes ages to get these boots off,” Rafe said again as he watched, pointing down at the intricate buckles on his ski boots. Sam shrugged.

“Don’t take them off then.” He watched Rafe frown for a moment, deciding whether there was anything left to complain about, but eventually his expression softened and he shrugged back.

“In that case, I guess we could make out in here.”

Rafe didn’t waste any time after that and, having cleared a space on the wall, Sam was delighted when Rafe crossed the short distance to kiss him again. Sam held the sides of Rafe’s face and gently ran his tongue over Rafe’s lips, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. Rafe instantly obliged. 

A rustling sound made it hard to concentrate fully, and Sam realized that the material of their ski pants was rubbing together and making an obnoxious noise. Jumping to the conclusion that the sound was probably bothering Rafe in an equal amount, Sam reached down and pushed both of their pants down to their knees, revealing another thermal layer of clothing.

“Too many layers,” Rafe laughed, the sound muffled against Sam’s neck as he moved to kiss the skin there. Distracted by Rafe’s ministrations, Sam fumbled with his own thermal pants, taking a minute to roll them down far enough before doing the same to Rafe. It was a relief when they were both finally free, as compared to the layers that they’d both been wearing earlier, the thin layer of cotton now separating them as they started to grind felt like nothing at all. Guiding Rafe’s mouth back up to his own, Sam moved his hand to squeeze Rafe’s ass and felt him groan. 

The first time Rafe’s hand palmed him over his underwear, Sam felt like he’d gotten an electric shock. Trying not to break the kiss, he could only squeeze Rafe’s ass harder as the man’s hand roamed over his package, cupping and gently rubbing him through the fabric. Sam couldn’t help but spread his legs a little wider, giving Rafe even more room than before. A hand slipped into Sam’s waistband, and then Rafe was touching his dick for real, feeling it pulse and harden in his grasp. Unable to keep up, Sam broke the kiss and pressed his face into Rafe’s neck, breathing heavily. He felt the hand recede from his underwear and nearly cried out in despair. 

“You alright?” Rafe’s voice was husky in Sam’s ear, and Sam nodded vigorously.

“It hasn’t- Ah Jesus, it hasn’t felt like that in a long time. I want to feel you too.” Sam felt Rafe chuckle, and Rafe’s hands moved to clasp Sam’s, guiding them down his chest until he let them go, leaving Sam’s knuckles just brushing Rafe’s hardened member. Sam felt Rafe peel his underwear down, and his freed dick nearly fell right into his hands. Rafe’s body twitched when Sam started to stroke him with one hand, roaming between his legs with the other.

“No cheating,” Rafe's breath hitched, and he tugged Sam’s underwear down so that he could wrap both hands around him. As tightly wound as he was, Sam couldn’t help but thrust his hips against Rafe’s hands, but he immediately took a step back.

“Sorry, is this okay?” Sam asked, mesmerized by the way Rafe’s dick was pressed up against his stomach. He noticed Rafe wasn’t looking at his face.

“Fuck… Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner, Samuel?” Feeling nervous, Sam tried to laugh.

“What are you talking about?” Rafe looked at him like he was an idiot and gestured down at his pants.

“You’re fucking hung like a horse!” Sam instantly felt his cheeks get hot.

“I mean I wouldn’t say a horse-” Sam tried to protest, but he was interrupted by Rafe dropping down to his knees and immediately taking him into his mouth. 

Sam really had to restrain himself from bucking his hips this time, instead, letting Rafe get his bearings and gently explore at his own pace. Sam’s own hands roamed too, carding through Rafe’s windswept hair, but was disappointed to find that he wasn’t able to reach anything lower than Rafe’s shoulders.

“Rafe,” He said, voice cracking as Rafe pulled his mouth completely away. His dick was already coated with a mix of saliva and pre-cum, and when Rafe looked up with hooded eyes, he felt one step closer to an orgasm. “I can’t touch you from here.” 

Rafe raised an eyebrow at him, “No one’s ever said that while I’m sucking them off. Enjoy the ride, and I’ll take care of us both.” 

Sam wanted to keep arguing, but Rafe didn’t wait for a reply before continuing. This time, Sam looked down and saw that Rafe had taken hold of himself with one hand too, and was lazily stroking it against his stomach. For a moment, Sam felt embarrassed that he couldn’t reciprocate, but then Rafe’s mouth seemed to change its tune, and suddenly Sam wasn’t thinking much at all.

Distantly he could feel Rafe’s breaths getting heavier as he used his mouth and tongue all over - fuck Rafe knew what he was doing - and Sam’s thrusting became more erratic as he tried to fight the orgasm that was threatening to overcome him.

“Rafe - fuck - I’m gonna-” Sam gasped, trying to pull out, but Rafe kept his mouth tightly over him as Sam came, swallowing everything. Now Rafe’s hand was frantic on himself, and Sam slid down the wall, adding his own hands to the mix. This seemed to be enough, as almost instantly Rafe was coming, streams of semen hitting his shirt and running over their hands.

“Oh my god…”

Sam helped him pull off his soiled shirt and, utterly spent, Rafe flopped over onto his side and lay on the ground. Sam used the shirt to gently wipe up the mess, but before he could clean Rafe’s hands as well, he lifted one hand and bumped it against Sam’s cheek.

“Something to remember me by,” He mumbled, sounding half asleep and looking up at him with nearly closed eyes. Taking Rafe’s offered hand with both of his, Sam gently sucked each finger clean. 

Sam rubbed Rafe’s bare back gently and then stood up, pulling up his underwear and pants and putting his outer gear back on. As tired as he looked, Rafe sat up and started to do the same, grimacing as he was forced to put the soiled shirt back on his dry skin.

“Come back to mine?” Sam asked when Rafe was standing again, looking a little bit more alert. Sam hoped that he’d be quick to revert back to exhausted, pliable Rafe if they got back to bed fast enough - he wanted to cuddle. Rafe nodded without argument, and Sam helped him out of the shed, leaving the keys hanging by the door.

The walk to the employee lodge was short - which is why Sam had suggested it over Rafe’s - but he still carried Rafe’s skis and poles as well as his own, letting the other man walk close beside him. 

He was glad it was quiet when they arrived back at the lodge. A few of the employees had left for the season already, meaning the crazy parties had deflated into evenings spent drinking and playing card games instead. Sam made sure Rafe didn’t look too flushed before they entered, just in case, but the room was empty, and he could quickly lead Rafe inside.

“Hungry?” Sam asked him as they crossed the living area. Rafe shook his head.

“Dead tired,” he rubbed his eyes, “Eat later.” With a hand on the small of Rafe’s back, Sam continued through to the dorm room.

“Can you turn the light on?” Rafe asked as Sam led him over to his bed and helped him onto the mattress. The room was nearly completely dark, but Sam still shook his head automatically.

“There are twelve people in here,” Sam said, dropping his voice down to a whisper. He peeled off Rafe’s shirt again in the dark and threw it under the bed where he could deal with it tomorrow. Rafe pressed his face right up to Sam’s ear.

“Twelve?!” Sam laughed, pressing a kiss somewhere on Rafe’s shoulder - it was hard to see in the dark.

“I think it’s more like eight now that the season’s ending,” He replied, moving to help Rafe shimmy down his pants. Rafe’s hand stopped him as he made a move to pull down his underwear.

“Eight people, Samuel,” Rafe protested, just as Sam found Rafe’s mouth in the dark and leaned in for a gentle roaming kiss.

“If I get you a shirt, will you take them off?” He didn’t really mean it, which is why he didn’t bother to wait for a reply as he started to search for a spare shirt. He eventually found something clean in his bag and handed it over to Rafe. His eyes had mostly adjusted to the light by then, so when Rafe shrugged the shirt on Sam could see that it was massively over-sized and came down to his thighs. 

Rafe climbed into bed while Sam stripped off his own clothes, ridding himself of his shirt and his pants before slipping in behind Rafe. He hadn’t really expected him to follow through with the deal, so he was surprised when he felt the curve of Rafe’s bare ass against his thigh. Sam didn’t make a sound, but he gently roamed Rafe with one hand, taking advantage of having him so close compared to at his feet like before. He slipped his hand gently between Rafe’s thighs, stroking him with his thumb. Rafe made a low sound and squirmed.

“I can’t sleep with you touching me like that, Samuel,” He mumbled, elbowing Sam in the ribs. 

“Like what, baby?” Sam smirked in his ear, but when Rafe sounded like he would sleep on the couch if Sam didn’t quit it, he rolled onto his back and repositioned Rafe. Letting Rafe press his cheek against his chest, Sam began to gently stroke his back. Rafe made a content sound and nuzzled deeper into Sam’s chest, and Sam continued until the man against him relaxed and began to breathe deeply. Moving to hold him in both arms, Sam was not far behind in sleep.


End file.
